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“‘I want a pledge from you. Will you give it? ’ repeated our hero.” 

(See page 50) 


THE YOUNG SHOWMAN’S 
RIVALS 


Ups and Downs of the Road 


STANLEY ORRIS 

AUTHOR OF 

“Phil, the Showman,” “The Young Showman’s Pluck,” 
O and “The Young Showman's i riumph.“ 

5 ^ 



NEW YORK AND LONDON 
street & SMITH. PUBLISHERS 


THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS. 

Two Copies Reeeiveo 

JUL 15 1903 


^ Copyright Entry 

D 3 

ciiLAS^ CL. XXc. No. 

4 m -/ r 

COPY 8. 



Copyright, 1903 
By STREET & SMITH 


The Young Showman’s Rivals 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I — The Two-tent Rivals .... 7 

II — Taking Possession . . . . 15 

III — Blocking the Way 23 

IV — ‘‘This Explains Everything” ... 30 

V— At the Gate 38 

VI — A Novel Contest 45 

VII — The Consolidated Shows .... 52 

VIII— Eona, the Girl Centaur .... 60 

IX — A New Star 67 

X — What Mamie Said 75 

XI — The Search for Isabel .... 82 

XII — Melton, the Clown .... 90 

XIII— One Shadow Lifted 96 

XIV — Arkwright and Melton . . . . 102 

XV — The Fight 109 

XVI— The End of It 116 

XVII — The Peril of Isabel 123 

XVIII— The Tent on Fire 131 

XIX— The Flight 139 


CONTENTS 


ii 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XX — Mamie and the Detective . . . 147 

XXI — The Telegram 154 

XXII— Clay’s Defeat . ’ . . . . 160 

XXIII — A Prosperous Young Showman . .168 

XXIV — Another Break by Isabel . . . 176 

XXV — The Plotters 184 

XXVI — The Insult to Eona . . . . 191 

XXVII — A Surprise for Phil .... 200 

XXVIII — Phil’s Temptation .... 207 

XXIX — A Black Scheme 215 

XXX — Caught 223 

XXXI— Phil and Dora 231 

XXXII — Isabel’s Story 237 

XXXIII — At a Way Station 242 

XXXIV— What Mamie Saw ... . 249 

XXXV — Dora’s Danger 256 

XXXVI — A Villainous Attempt . . . 262 

XXXVII— Controlling the Crowd .... 270 

XXXVIII — First Stage of the Race . . . 277 

XXXIX — First on the Grounds .... 283 

XL — Trouble at the Landing . . . 300 

XLI— Conclusion 307 


THE YOUNG SHOWMAN’S RIVALS. 


CHAPTER L 

THE TWO-TENT RIVAL. 

“Rush, we’ve got a nasty piece of business to deal with 
this time.” 

It was Walt Arkwright, general all-around man, who 
spoke, and he addressed his former schoolmate and pres- 
ent employer, Philip Rushington, usually styled “Rush,” 
sole owner and manager of Mossman & Rushington’s Cir- 
cus and Hippodrome. 

The circus had been on the road for several months, 
and as readers of a former volume in this series, entitled 
“Phil Rushington’s Circus,” know, it had proved a big 
success in spite of many obstacles. 

“What is wrong now, Walt?” returned Phil, with a 
quiet smile that partly belied the serious concern he felt. 
“Your face looks as if it was getting ready to show at a 
funeral.” 

“To begin with, three shows are billed for this town 
all for the same day — all of the circus kind at that !” 

“What is the meaning of that? Did Mr. Carpenter, 
our advance agent, engage grounds and put up paper 
for a date without finding out if there was anybody 
ahead of us?” 


8 


The Two-tent Rival. 


‘‘It isn’t likely that he would do that. Of course, I 
don’t know, only that no man would do such a thing if he 
was in his right mind.” 

“Upon one occasion, at least, as you know, Norman 
Carpenter did a very important thing when he was not in 
his right mind. But then there was more excuse for it. 
In this case, he must have been worse than an idiot if he 
has run us in on the heels of two other circuses. Why, in 
the mere matter of grounds, I was told that there was 
only one place in this town where our tents could be put 
up. Now, Carpenter had to engage that spot for us. If 
he engaged it, how could anybody else get hold of it?” 

“The question is a poser. Rush. But I saw the paper 
of the other shows with my own eyes, and they all name 
the same grounds for the exhibition.” 

“Have the other circuses arrived ahead of us?” 

“I don’t know. One, which is a new show, and which 
is said to be modeled after the Mossman & Rushington, 
was coming from a small town to the south of this, and 
it was to be drawn with horses. When they will arrive,' 
if they are not already here, is a matter of conjecture.” 

“Then there must not be a moment of time lost. We 
must get onto the grounds with our property, and if they 
are not already occupied, the sooner our tents are up 
the better will our chances be. Well, Walt, won’t there 
be more than one kind of a circus if all should get to the 
grounds at the same time !” 

“I should be inclined to smile,” said Arkwright. 

The hour at which this conversation took place was a 
little past four o’clock in the morning. It was light 


Tile Two-tent Rival. 


9 


enough for midday. The eastern sky was flushed to a 
crimson hue, for the sun was just below the horizon; and 
in the west hung the moon, round as an orange and of 
the hue of one as it shone through a smooch of smoke 
left by a passing railway train. 

Phil Rushington was mounted on the magnificent horse 
which he rode so gracefully in the ring of his own circus, 
and he had been galloping along a strip of country road 
when he met Walt Arkwright, his chum and assistant 
manager of the Mossman & Rushington Circus and Hip- 
podrome. 

Rushington had just reached the crest of a low rise of 
ground from whence he could see a broad, beautiful val- 
ley with a stream zigzagging through alternating patches 
of woodland and grassy plain, and at one point dividing 
a considerable town into halves. 

Phil had tarried at the station to see that the work of 
unloading the circus property and getting it started for 
the grounds was well under way, while Walt had gone 
down to the town in advance to ‘‘spy out the land.’' 

Before going far Walt had come upon billboards bear- 
ing the announcements not only of the Mossman & Rush- 
ington, but of two other similar shows, all to exhibit in that 
town on the same date. More than this he did not stop 
to see, for he felt that Rushington could not be informed 
of the conditions too soon. 

Early as the hour was, Walt had seen a boy by the 
roadside waiting to see the show come along. From him 
he had obtained the only points concerning the other 
shows which were not mentioned by the bills. Back 


lo 


Tlie Two-tent Rival. 


up the road Arkwright had hastened, to meet Rushing- 
ton as has been described. 

Even then they heard the heavy rumble of the property 
teams of the Rushington circus. They had just finished 
loading, and were already on their way to the grounds 
from the station, and not far behind Phil himself. 

“Right about face, Walt, and we will get to the grounds 
as quick as our nags will let us,” said the young circus 
owner. 

“And if representatives of either of the other shows are 
on the ground?” 

“We’ll make ’em suspend operations until we can com- 
municate with the agent of whom the grounds were hired. 
Then, woe unto him whose hour of making the engage- 
ment is the latest. And woe unto the agent, no matter 
who is the winner.” 

Walt wheeled his horse, and the two thundered down 
the road as if they were going to a fire. They presently 
came to the billboards of which Walt had spoken, and 
there Phil tarried long enough to make sure that his 
friend had made no mistake as to the date or other signifi- 
cance conveyed by the bills. 

“You were right,” said Phil, smiling grimly. “There 
are three shows in this town to-day, unless one cleans the 
others out. It may come to that. Pm blessed if I feel 
now as if I were going to meekly give up the day that I 
have scheduled and the grounds I have hired, to say noth- 
ing of the license fee that I paid to the town for the priv- 
ilege of entertaining its people. No, Walt, I don’t think 
the Mossman & Rushington will cancel any dates !” 


The Two-tent Rival. 


11 


Forward sped the two young horsemen, leaving a 
cloud of dust behind them. Early risers in the houses 
which were scattered along the route flew to the windows 
to get a glimpse of the two riders and their magnificent 
horses as they passed. 

Rushington was especially careful about the appearance 
and quality of his horses. The draught animals were 
sleek and well fed and carefully groomed. No misde- 
meanor on the part of people connected with his circus 
was counted by him so serious as neglect in the care 
of the horses. 

There was no chance to talk as they rode down the 
gentle slope toward the heart of the town. Both knew 
that the circus grounds were at that end of the town, 
and the exact location was indicated by a large signboard, 
for the spot was used by the county fairs each fall. 

There was an open gateway, a broad, hard track, a 
high board fence, and within the inclosure were three 
men, one of them giving directions to two others who 
were driving some short stakes. 

‘Those are not our men,” said Phil, as he pulled up 
just inside the gate. 

“None of our men are on the ground yet,” Walt an- 
swered. 

“Then these fellows probably belong to one of the 
other shows, and they are staking the spot for the can- 
vasmen to put up the tent.” 

“That is probably the situation. Now, Rush, what 
had we better do about it? We may talk as much as we 
choose about taking possession of the grounds whether 


12 


The Two-tent Rival. 


we are entitled to them or not, but when it comes right 
down to it we don’t want to get into a row unless we are 
dead sure of coming out on top.” 

‘‘Who said anything about taking possession if we were 
not entitled to the grounds? We are entitled to them, 
and I have the document to prove it. Of course I mean 
to be courteous, and put up our canvas peaceably if I can. 
But it goes up anyhow, Walt.” 

Phil wheeled his horse into the track and rode up to 
the spot where the foreman of the trio was standing. 

'These are the Edmunton Fair Grounds, I believe?” 
Phil inquired, politely. 

The man was a stalwart fellow, with a red face, a red 
nose and red eyes. He wore a blazing red tie, and he 
was wiping perspiration from his face with a red hand- 
kerchief. The whole effect was lurid, and Walt, who 
had an eye for such points, smiled to himself. 

"Course they are,” snapped the man. 

"And you are the agent who looks after them and lets 
them, I presume? Mr. Garno?” 

"No! Pm Dan Starr, head property man of Tandy’s 
Two-Tent Wonder. We’re staking out to put up the 
tents. Canvas be here inside of ten minutes.” 

Phil Rushington exchanged glances with his assistant. 

Walt’s heart beat fast, for he foresaw a conflict of 
rights, and the red man did not look submissive or amen- 
able to argument. But Phil’s coolness did not waver. 

"There must be some mistake about this, Mr. Starr,” 
he said, quietly producing a paper. "This shows that 
these grounds were hired for this date by the Mossman 


The Two-tent Rival. 


13 

& Rushington Circus and Hippodrome. Mr. Abel Garno, 
who is empowered, I believe, to negotiate with traveling 
shows for the .letting of the fair grounds, signed the 
paper. Probably the advance agent of your company 
engaged other grounds, and telegraphed wrong instruc- 
tions to your manager.” 

The red-faced man grew redder while Phil was speak- 
ing, and it was evident that he could hardly restrain him- 
self from breaking in before Phil had finished. 

“There, you’ve said enough !” he roared, at last. “I 
know what Pm doing, and I don’t let no boys come 
around and give me any guff. Get out of here, both of 
ye!” 

Rushington did not stir. 

“Do you claim that the Tandy Two-Tent Wonder has 
engaged these grounds?” Phil demanded. 

“We wouldn’t be putting up our canvas here if it 
hadn’t.” 

“Then you have a paper to show for it ?” 

“The manager has it.” 

“It isn’t here, then?” 

“What did I want of a piece of paper? We don’t do 
an exclusive business on paper, like some single-tent 
shows, you better believe.” 

“We do not need to enter into any discussion of the 
respective merits of the two shows. Mine will utter 
its first word for itself in the street parade within a 
few hours. But having hired these grounds, and hold- 
ing proof of the fact, I must request you to drive no 
more stakes for my men to pull up!” 


14 


The Two-tent Rival. 


“To pull up, eh?’’ 

“That is what I said.” 

“You don’t dare to touch one of them stakes! You 
blamed little understrapper, to blow for a one-hoss racin’ 
show, with a single tent no bigger than a gypsy’s, and 
nothin’ but Kickapoo Injun patent medicine acks 1 That’s 
what you be. Git off the earth ! — git off, I say 1” 

The man blustered up to Rushington’s horse. He had 
a short stake in his hand like those which his men were 
driving, and seemed about to strike the noble horse with 
it across the face. 

“Hold on, Mr. Starr ! Don’t you strike my horse !” 

Phil spoke in a tone that caused the other to hesitate. 

“Who says it? Git off, if you don’t want your boss 
hit.” 

“I am Mr. Philip Rushington, of the Mossman & Rush- 
ington Circus and Hippodrome!” 

The other stared, grinned incredulously. 

“I tell you and the other youngster to git outer these 
grounds or I’ll smash the noses of your bosses first and 
your’n seconcj!” 

The stake was swung, and Rushington reined his 
horse to one side to avoid the blow. 


CHAPTER IL 


TAKING POSSESSION. 

In reining his horse to one side it was not Phil Rush- 
ington’s object solely to avoid letting the stake hit the 
nose of his steed. He at the moment heard the rumble 
of heavy wagons along the road, and the sounds came 
from opposite directions. He knew the meaning of 
them — ^that the property wagons of his own show were 
approaching from the depot, and those of Tandy’s Two- 
Tent Wonder were coming through the town. 

Phil would gladly have avoided trouble if it were 
possible. But Dan Starr, of the other company, was a 
natural fighter. He would rather quarrel than enjoy 
any other felicity in life. There are men of his sort, 
as Rushington knew by experience, and with that sort 
there is only one way to deal. 

The stake swung past the nose of Rushington’s horse, 
and at the same tinie the rider deftly seized and jerked 
it from the man’s grasp. ^ 

A growl of rage broke from Starr’s lips. For a mo- 
ment he stared at the young showman as if he could not 
believe the evidence of his senses. Then he leaped 
toward him, with the evident purpose of dragging him 
from the saddle. 

“Take care of Caesar, Walt,” said Phil, coolly, as he 
reined the steed up to his companion, and then leaped 
lightly to the ground and faced his assailant. 


i6 Taking Possession. 

“I never allow a horse to be abused, Mr. Starr,’' he 
calmly remarked, as he met the savage gaze of Starr. 
“But if you wish to vent your viciousness on me I will 
give you as fair a chance as I would anybody. So let 
the agent of Tandy’s Two-Cent Thunder sail in and 
win !” 

The two workmen had so far listened to the altercation 
between Starr and Phil with interest, but without antici- 
pation of serious trouble. Now they approached nearer 
to their boss, as if ready to render any aid that might be 
required of them. 

But the remark of Rushington brought a laugh from 
Walt Arkwright, and that helped them to see the wit 
in it, and both broke into a roar. 

“‘Tandy’s Two-Cent Thunder!’ Good enough!” cried 
one of them. And both looked at the genteel young owner 
of the rival show with new interest. 

“Yah !” howled Starr, to whom the contemptuous name 
applied to the show he represented was the most odious 
that could have been devised. He glared at his men for 
laughing, and then his heavy bulk lunged toward Rush- 
ington, while he yelled: 

“Get off the grounds! Get off, or I’ll smash every 
bone in ye !” 

His heavy fists hammered at the head of Phil furiously 
for half a minute before he realized that he was doing no 
execution whatever, and that he was tiring himself out to 
no purpose. 

“Hah ! a fighter, and scientific, be ye !” he snarled. 

He drew back to survey his antagonist more critically. 


17 


Taking Possession. 

It dawned upon his slow wits then that the young- fellow 
would not stand there like that unless he had some reason 
to believe that he could take care of himself. 

“Perhaps I better go in more careful, and knock him 
out with one good straight, smashing hit !” he thought. 

Walt looked on with a faint smile of amusement, for 
he was not worried as to how his chum might come out of 
the row. His chief worry was about the final outcome, 
which an encounter of fists alone might not settle. 

Phil Rushington, a year or two before, had shown that 
he had a bad temper if he gave rein to it. He well under- 
stood the fact, and he kept that temper curbed upon all 
occasions. Each year found him better able to control 
himself; each year, with its discipline and experience, its 
hardships and triumphs, brought to him more of wisdom 
and power to use it. 

Yet the young circus owner was a boy still, and it was 
not quite possible for him to keep his heart throbs down 
to the regularity and moderation of a man’s. The heavy 
fists of the ruffian hammered on Rushington’s arms, and 
although the head and body of the young athlete were 
amply protected, his arms and hands felt the weight of 
some of the blows, and it was getting to be an unpleasant 
monotony. 

The encounter took place just inside the gate of the 
grounds. Phil, indeed, stood backed up almost against 
the high fence. 

“Throw him over the fence, Starr, can’t ye?” said one 
of the other men, who began to think that the big fellow 


1 8 Taking Possession. 

was letting the youth thrash him without trying to put up 
much of a fight. 

“Yes, Starr, throw the young bantam over the fence,” 
the other joined in. 

“That is the scheme, Starr,” chimed in Walt. “It is a 
neat trick to do by Phil Rushington, if you only know 
how to come it.” 

Walt xA.rkwright was believed by most of his friends 
to be rather effeminate in his choice of amusements. But 
there was one masculine capability that he admired — the 
ability to fight. 

He had seen Rushington in that sort of a game before, 
and he always forgot everything else watching the easy 
grace of movement and marvelous strength exhibited by 
his chum in an encounter of that kind. 

Starr was getting tired of trying to get in a tailing 
blow with his fists, and while the arms of our hero ached 
like an ugly tooth, he was tiring out his assailant without 
having actually struck a blow in return. 

But suddenly the tactics of Phil changed. 

“I hoped you would drop it without asking for any 
more!” Phil exclaimed. “But I guess you don’t know 
enough !” 

Thump! went one of Rushington’s fists against the 
shoulder of Starr, and the man reeled. He recovered 
himself instantly, but his discretion was knocked out of 
him by the hurt of the blow, and he flung himself at Phil 
in an attempt to crush the latter by the sheer force of 
weight and strength. 

As a result, he received Phil’s fist again, landed with 


19 


Taking Possession. 

uncomfortable precision, and back he went against the 
fence. Then Rushington did not wait for the man to 
return to the onslaught. Instead, he sprang at Starr be- 
fore the latter could recover himself, and caught him 
around the waist partly from behind, lifting him off his 
feet. 

The man was helpless. No man can make a commend- 
able show of valor with his feet kicking the empty air, 
while he is being swung in the arms of an antagonist like 
a pendulum. 

Starr yelled, the two laborers shouted and stared, 
Walt Arkwright smiled expectantly, and the end of it 
was that Starr went over the fence, dropping on the turf 
on the other side ! 

“Ginger! but that was done pretty good!” gasped one 
of th^uen. The other could not find words to express 
his surprise and admiration for the valor of Rushington, 
who was breathing deep and strong under the exertion, 
for Starr was no lightweight. 

• It was Walt who spoke to the men. 

“We didn’t come to make trouble,” he said. “We have 
our paper to prove tliat we hired these grounds of Mr. 
^arno, and a receipt for payment which was made in 
advance. Your man Starr pitched in and tried to drive 
Mr. Rushington off without giving him a chance to prove 
liis rights. Gentlemen don’t settle differences that way. 
Lucky that Rushington didn’t hit the lubber between the 
eyes, as he might have done, for it would have used him 
up. Better go and reason some sense into him. There 
come our property wagons, and we’ll have this spot cov- 


20 


Taking Possession. 

ered in with canvas in short order. If your people prove 
a prior engagement of the grounds we’ll loan you our 
tents for your two-cent thunder !” 

“All right,” laughed the laborer who had been the most 
admiring observer of the encounter. “We was hired by 
Starr to-day, and we don’t know anything about him or 
the circus that he blows for. We’ve heard of yours, and 
Mr. Rushington seems to be all right. No hard feelings 
between us on either side, I hope?” 

“We have none,” said Walt. 

“I guess we’ll be getting out of the way. I wish we 
might settle up with Tandy and you wanted a couple of 
men like us. We’ve been wanting to get in with a show 
of this kind for two years, and Tandy was the first one 
to come along, and he was just organizing, so we got in 
easy — ^too easy. He owes us about ten cents, but we want 
to be fair about leaving him. If he wants us bad for the 
day we’ll have to stick. Then, if your people had a 
vacancy ” 

“I don’t know about that, really,” said Walt, as the 
first of Rushington’s property wagons rumbled into the 
grounds. “But if you still want a job, come around in an 
hour or two and the boss of the canvasmen will tell you.” 

“And will you speak to him about us ?” 

“Yes.” 

The men edged out of the grounds, and Phil and Walt 
well understood that they would not present themselves 
to Tandy’s boss for duty on that day or any other. The 
fact that they had laughed when the show that hired them 
was called Tandy’s Two-Cent Thunder was enough to 


Taking Possession. 


21 


brew for them the most serious kind of trouble with the 
management of the other show should they wish to re- 
tain an engagement with it. 

Phil Rushington had disposed of Starr, the boss of the 
canvasmen of the other show, in such short order that he 
could himself hardly realize the importance of the result 
accomplished. He had not sought the fight. There had 
been a time — and that time was not very distant — when 
the knowledge that he possessed a strength of arm which 
was really abnormal, tempted him to exhibit that strength 
upon every provocation. 

But he no longer prided himself on his prowess. He 
shrank more and more from giving an exhibition of his 
strength in unfriendly encounters. To him, there seemed 
to be a strength of mind and character which was more 
to be coveted and cherished than mere power of muscle. 
It seemed to him that the possession of the ability to over- 
come almost any assailant drew him into encounters which 
he might have avoided had he been less confident of 
success. 

Yet he might have known that this was not so. He 
never thought of the outcome when he stood up to resist 
an assailant or to assert a right or defend a friend. Had 
he been puny in body, or had he been attacked by over- 
whelming odds, he would have been just as ready to stay 
in the battle. 

In reality, therefore, it was strength of mind and char- 
acter in Phil Rushington that won, even when he had to 
hammer the head of an obstinate boor with his fists. His 
reluctance to make use of his great strength caused him 


22 


Taking Possession. 


to consider his action well beforehand, so that he was 
sure that justice was on his side before a blow was struck. 

The first of the property wagons of Rushington’s circus 
came in through the gate, and the second was close behind 
it. The others were further in the rear, and Rush saw 
the wagons of the rival circus already at the gate. 

Those wagons halted just outside, and the burly form 
of Starr was seen to approach the foremost team. There 
was a brief consultation, and the driver went back to 
speak to the drivers of the other wagons. On one of the 
latter several men reclined on the canvas, seemingly half 
asleep. 

‘"Walt,” said Phil, in a low tone, “if those teams and 
men come in here, there will be the worst kind of trouble.” 


CHAPTER III. 


BLOCKING THE WAY. 

Walt Arkwright had one of the most sensitive natures 
in the world, and a naturally mild temper. Yet when he 
had first known Phil Rushington at Springvale Academy, 
he had seemed to enjoy sport or more serious encounters 
quite as well as did any other student in the school. 

He was not inclined to get mixed up in anything of 
the sort as a principal. But he liked to look on and to 
“rub the ears” of the combatants. 

So much for his character before he really attempted 
to face any of the serious affairs of life. At first our hero 
had feared that his chum would be of little practical use 
to him in connection with a circus. Yet, almost from the 
start, Walt had acted in a role that called for the most 
sturdy self-reliance and force of character. And v/hen it 
came to standing up for the rights of the show, in oppo- 
sition to any kind of annoyance, no one could have’ been 
'more invincible than the mild-mannered Walt. 

So it was when Phil spoke of the prospect of trouble 
with the men of the rival show which at that moment was 
approaching the gate of the same grounds on which they 
were about to set up their tents. He took the matter as 
calmly as though it were the announcement of a picnic. 

“I suppose,” he said, “it would be easier to keep them 
out than to put them out if they once got in. We don’t 
let people go into our tent unless they have a ticket, and 


24 


Blocking the Way. 

I don’t know as we are obliged to allow any of that crowd 
to trespass on these grounds before the show begins.” 

“There are two sides to the first part of your proposi- 
tion, Walt,” said Phil. 

“How is that?” 

“We have a right to throw the fellows out as fast as 
they come in, if we keep on this side of the fence our- 
selves when we are doing it. But if they make us trouble 
from the outside we can do little without the help of the 
police. That, in fact, is what we need to secure at the 
start, so as to have the law on our side.” 

“Let’s have the police, then. If it is merely a few po- 
licemen that we need to make us happy, we ought to buy 
some and carry them around with us as a part of our 
show,” laughed Walt. 

“What I am afraid of in this town is, that it is rather 
poorly provided with policemen in the first place, and 
that we will have to rely on ourselves for the defense of 
our rights, although you may be sure that there will be 
enough to stand in the way of our doing anything very 
square. In towns of this size there are always people who 
are willing to believe any kind of a yarn against circus 
people, and some think circuses are made up of gangs Or 
ruffians at the best, instead of being composed, as they 
are, of some of the most steady, temperate and industri-' 
ous people in the world. We have prejudice to fight 
against in case of trouble that may involve individuals 
belonging to the town.” 

“That’s right. Rush. But we are ready to fight preju- 
dice or any other old thing, aren’t we?” 


Blocking the Way, 25 

^^Every time, Walt. Here comes our boss of canvas- 
men. Let me give him his orders. The sooner we can 
get up our canvas the better it will be for us, for ^pos- 
session is nine points of the law,’ in a case of this kind as 
in any other.” 

The consultation with the sturdy Irishman who had 
charge of the canvasmen was brief, but to the point, and 
never had that energetic gang set to work under better 
discipline or with greater effectiveness than it did then. 

So far, the teams of the other show had not attempted 
to pass in at the gate. At this Rushington wondered not 
a little. 

He did not wish to invite a fight, therefore he had kept 
away from the entrance gate himself. He had one man 
stationed near it, however, that any action might be re- 
ported to him without delay. The hour was too early to 
do any business with the officials of the town, or to see 
the agent of the grounds at his office. 

“But our only recourse in the interest of peace is to see 
the agent as early as possible, and throw the settlement of 
the question of our claims and those of the rival show 
on to his shoulders, where it belongs, since the blunder, 
if there is one, is probably his.” 

“How could there be any blunder?” queried Walt. 

“I don’t know, unless the business is done by more 
than one man, and one of them was unaware of the en- 
gagements made by the other.” 

“Probably that is the way it occurred if there is really 
any blunder instead of design. But I have a suspicion of 
something else.” 


26 


Blocking the Way. 


“What is that, Walt?” 

“Haven’t we been followed up by some kind of under- 
handed bother from the very first? Has there been a 
town visited by us where we haven’t been annoyed by 
some secret enemy? Have we yet found out who was 
responsible for the escape of the lion in the city of 
Columbus ?” 

“I know that is still a mystery, except that the trainer 
thought one of the young fellows who were hanging 
around the cage m^ay have meddled with the fastening in 
some way.” 

“A pretty thin explanation, to my mind.” 

“The trainer gave that, as I believed, to shift from his 
own shoulders the real responsibility for the accident.” 

“However it happened, there is a mystery in it, and it 
is only one of several things that have occurred to cause 
you trouble and expense. You know that Joseph Saun- 
ders, as the agent for another circus, tried while we were 
in that place to hire Isabel, your star rider. Then, before 
you got out of the dramatic profession the same man 
wheedled your manager into investing your money in a 
wildcat scheme. There has been something of the kind 
everywhere you have been, and there begins to appear to 
me the ghost of a meaning to it all.” 

“You have been my private detective, Walt, and I 
will have to leave it to you to find out about such things. 
But I hate to feel that I am one of the sort to make a 
world full of enemies who are ready to do me all the mis- 
chief they can.” 


Blocking the Way. 27 

“Now, Rush, you aren’t talking with your usual clear 
sense.’' 

“What do you mean?” 

“Are you friendless in this old world?” 

“I hope not, Walt.” 

“Isn’t it true that you were the most popular man in 
Springvale Academy, and didn’t you receive the warmest 
kind of a reception there when you visited the place re- 
cently with your show ?” 

“Yes. But even there I had to be assailed by an enemy 
who would have made me no end of trouble if I hadn’t 
been on the watch.” 

“Just one enemy, and you know his sort. It is the 
same kind that a fellow like you is bound to make. And 
yet you turn most of them your way in the end, because 
you are so ready to forgive and to use them right in 
everything. You were a winner in athletics, and you win 
in everything you undertake, and a winner finds people 
who will hate him for no other reason than that he does 
win. But don’t you see that the sort of enemies you have 
is the kind it is better to have against you rather than for 
you?” 

“Some may figure it that way. I know what you 
mean, Walt, and I thank you for your kind way of putting 
it. Still, you are mistaken on one point.” 

“Glad it is only one. But what is it?” 

“It isn’t good to have an enemy of any kind, though it 
may not be possible to help making one now and then. 
I don’t believe there is any man that would hate me if I 
could get close enough to him so that he might know 


28 


Blocking the Way. 


how I really felt toward him. I feel ugly sometimes, 
when somebody has tried in a mean way to throw me 
down, but I can't harbor things against a man." 

"‘You are the best fellow living, Rush, and don’t I 
know it !’’ 

“Don’t, Walt, though I was on the point of saying 
the same thing of you. Say, old man, isn’t it good to 
have a friend that you feel is always sure, no matter what 
may turn against one?’’ 

“Yes. And I have such a friend in you, and you the 
same kind in me, no matter what bluffs we may put up 
on each other at times.’’ 

“That’s right.’’ 

The canvasmen were hard at work, and already the 
grounds began to look as if the circus had come to town. 
And still the loaded teams of the rival show hung out- 
side the gate, and no attempt was made to enter. 

“Looks as if they meant to find out whether they had 
any rights or not before they tried to carry the row any 
further,’’ said Walt. 

“Probably that is what they are about. Well, that is 
all I ask. I had no wish to take advantage. But I have 
the paper to show that the grounds were engaged, and 
also the license from the town, which also states where 
the show is to exhibit. Starr could show nothing, and 
there was nothing for me to do except to come in and put 
up my canvas.’’ 

“I don’t think a little bit that they mean to give up the 
battle if there is the shadow of a chance to get the best of 
us. Starr is a fighter, and he evidently had his orders. 


29 


Blocking the Way. 

I think he expected us to come in on the grounds, and 
that there would be a dispute as to right. But he had 
no idea that you would put up a fight for them except 
through legal interference if he got here ahead of you.*^ 

“What are they driving at now, is the point that wor- 
ries me.’' 

“There come your other teams, and they have got to 
pass Tandy’s, and we will see if anything happens.” 

The rest of Rushington’s property teams were coming 
in a string, and even as Walt spoke the leader attempted 
to pass one of the wagons belonging to the rival show. 

But the rival blocked the road and would not turn out. 

“Now the real picnic begins,” muttered Rush. And 
without another word he went out at the gate and ap- 
proached his wagon, which the other refused to allow 
to enter at the gate. 


CHAPTER IV. 


“this explains everything.’V 

The gate to the grounds was set about forty feet from 
the public roadway, and although so much of the space 
was not fenced in, it really belonged to the private cor- 
poration and not to the highway of the town. Therefore, 
the Tandy wagon that blocked the entrance was on the 
grounds of the corporation instead of the highway. 

Rushington’s driver was expostulating with the driver 
of the other wagon as Phil came up. Neither of the men 
yet showed any anger, but the one on the Tandy wagon 
was firm and the other persuasive. 

“A part of our teams are inside the gate already,” 
Rushington’s man was saying. “This is the place where 
we were told to come, and I don’t see how there can be 
any mistake.” 

“There is a mistake just the same, and your teams will 
all have to get out pretty soon,” said Tandy’s driver. 

Starr was not in sight, and Rush assumed that he had 
gone to procure some kind of authority to enforce his 
claims to the grounds. 

“But he can’t get it, so I needn’t worry,” .was Phil’s 
thought. 

The young circus owner was inclined to await the 
return of Starr, believing that the latter’s failure to secure 
the support of the agent for the grounds would induce 
him to withdraw his claims without further struggle. 


‘‘This Explains Everything.’’ 


31 


Still, there must not be much delay, for the work of 
putting up the canvas must proceed. Phil wished to be 
reasonable and to avoid a fight if possible. 

“Why don’t you come along, Struthers?” he asked of 
the driver. 

“This man says that another show is ahead of yours in 
hiring the grounds, and that you will have to get out.” 

“He is mistaken. I have a license from the city, and 
also a receipt and another paper from the agent for the 
grounds, showing that they were regularly hired by Mr. 
Carpenter, my advance agent. So come along, I want 
to see the canvas going up, for it will soon be time for the 
street parade.” . 

“The other wagon blocks the way.” 

“I guess he will let you pass. If his people show a bet- 
ter claim to the right to exhibit here than I have, then we 
will get out again, or give the Tandy people the right to 
use our tents and other properties on the ground. That 
is fair, and the best offer they will ever receive.” 

“You can’t say anything against such an offer as that,” 
said the driver called Struthers, appealing to the one who 
had refused to open a way for him. 

“I have my orders, and they are not to move one of 
these teams for anything short of an earthquake until the 
boss gets back. And I’m the sort to obey orders.” 

Phil smiled grimly. 

“I guess we’ll have to get up an earthquake, then,” he 
replied. 

Struthers met the eyes of his employer, and there he 
saw an expression which he had seen there once or twice 


32 


“This Explains Everything.” 


before. And he knew that the young showman was not 
joking, even though his words were uttered with a smile. 

“What shall I do, Mr. Rushington?” he asked. 

“Drive in.” 

“You see where t’other wagon stands?” 

“It will get out of the way when the driver sees you 
coming, for your wheels are the heaviest.” 

“You will have to get out of the way or I’ll drive over 
you, mister,” said Struthers, without a sign of bluster in 
his tone or words. 

He was a young fellow, not much older than Phil him- 
self, and as steady and industrious a young teamster as 
could be found. Indeed, Rushington made it a point to 
hire as youthful a crew as he could, with the idea of 
gaining for his show a reputation in the m.atter of the 
youth of all connected with it. It was a good point, and 
he had, in consequence, secured help of the most faithful 
kind, and men who worked all the handier under the 
bosses, who were all experienced. 

The driver of the Tandy team hesitated. 

“I wish Starr had stayed and faced out the row him- 
self !” he growled. 

“You are under no obligations to get yourself into 
trouble, that I see,” said our hero, quietly. “If you have 
any papers to show your right to hold the grounds, I 
will respect them until the matter can be settled in a 
proper manner. But if you have none, it is foolishness 
for you to hold out. Of course I shall not allow any set 
of men to interfere with the timely exhibition of my circus 
when I have complied with every legal requirement.” 


^^THis Explains Everything.’^ 


33 


“I am not blaming anybody,” said the driver. “But 1 
am the sort to stand by an agreement, and I am working 
on the earthquake schedule, as I told you.” 

“All right. Struthers, give him the technical warrant 
for letting you by. I guess his wagon will bear witness 
to there having been an earthquake along when you get 
through with it.” 

Struthers cracked his long whip over the heads of his 
four handsome horses. The heavy wagons started, there 
was a rumble of the big wheels, then a thump, a creak, a 
crash ! 

The other driver yelled and tried at the last moment to 
pull his horses out of the way. But he was too late. His 
wagon tilted, the wheels strained, he leaped off, and at 
the same time the drivers of the other Tandy wagons, who 
had been silent listeners and witnesses, made a dash to 
the rescue. 

Ready hands caught at the wheels of the imperiled 
wagon and tried to haul it clear, for the wheels were 
locked with those of the team which was trying to pass. 

Rushington had it on his lips to order Struthers to pull 
up and give the other a chance to get out of the way. 
But he thought better of it. He had given Tandy’s men 
fair warning and what had been done was merely to gain 
an advantage. The rival crew had given no assurance 
of surrender, nor had they intimated that they would 
desist from their opposition if he were to give them a 
chance. It was a time when the battle must be fought 
out to the victorious end. 

Struthers, young though he was, evidently interpreted 


34 


‘‘This Explains Everything.’^ 


the conditions in a like manner, for he did not try to re- 
lease the wheels which he had locked. At the same time 
Phil nodded a silent command to his other teams to ad- 
vance, and the order was given simultaneously by half a 
dozen drivers. 

It was an exciting moment. The young fellows in 
the employ of Phil Rushington saw in the whole affair 
the biggest kind of a lark, and what made it better than 
anything else in which they had ever engaged was the 
fact that they were doing nothing except to assert their 
rights. 

“Hold on ! You’ll smash us all !” cried the driver who 
had refused to let Struthers pass. 

“It is an earthquake,” said Rushington. “If you will 
clear the track, say the word. We go by or through 
you !” 

“Confound it all! Why don’t Starr come along?” 

“Here he comes ! here he comes ! and the agent of the 
grounds with him!” cried one of Tandy’s men. 

Struthers looked at Phil for a sign. But none was 
given. Phil had ordered him to advance, and it was 
plain that he was as much as ever resolved to have the 
order obeyed. 

The heavy teams belonging to the Rushington show 
were now all in motion. Some of the drivers of the rival 
show were seeing to it that disaster did not come to their 
lighter loads, for they knew that their teams could not 
cope with those of the other circus. 

The air was full of yells, while horses plunged and 
snorted, wheels cracked and axles creaked, and it looked 


‘‘This Explains Everything.’’ 35 

as if the whole space must be strewn with the canvas and 
wood belonging to the Tandy company. 

Rushington, looking down the road, saw a light buggy 
coming at a lively pace. He recognized one of the oc- 
cupants of the vehicle as Starr, the boss for the canvas- 
men of the other show. The one who drove the team 
was a fellow of about Rushington’s own age, and at the 
first glance it seemed as if Phil had seen him somewhere 
before. 

As the light team dashed up to the spot Phil became 
more than ever certain that the younger man’s face was 
familiar; but at the moment he could not recall when or 
where he had seen the fellow before. 

The red face of Starr became fairly livid. He yelled 
half a dozen orders to the drivers, all in the same breath, 
and as a result the one who had first blocked the way 
called out to Struthers : 

“Hold up, won’t you, and Pll get out of the way!” 

Struthers held up, and at the same time Rushington 
signaled to his other teams to follow suit. But it was 
not an easy matter to disentangle the wheels, and already 
more than a little damage had been done to the teams 
belonging to the property wagons of Tandy’s Two-Cent 
Wonder. 

The moment that the wheels were released Struthers 
drove through the gate; but before the others could fol- 
low Starr called out : 

“Hold on, unless you want the trouble of driving out 
again. This is the agent who let the grounds to Tandy’s 


36 


“This Explains Ever37thing/’ 


advance man, and he says that he is prepared to support 
our claims to the exhibition grounds for to-day.” 

“That’s right,” said the youthful companion of Starr. 
“It is the Tandy show that has the prior right on the 
ground. The other people will have to get off !” 

The face of the speaker was averted so that Rushing- 
ton could not see it when he said this. But the voice 
sounded as familiar as the features had looked, and Phil 
stepped quickly up to the buggy. 

“Is this Mr. Garno, the agent for these grounds?” 
Rush inquired. 

“Mr. Garno is out of town to-day, but I am his clerk,” 
said the other, still with averted face. 

“Did you let the grounds to the agent for Tandy’s Two- 
Tent Wonder?” 

“I did.” 

“On what date?” 

“On the fifteenth of the present month.” 

“My paper bears the date of the thirteenth. So I’m 
two days ahead of Tandy.” 

“There is no such record on our books. All engage- 
ments are booked on the date they are made, and there 
could be no mistakes. Of course, all the shows like to 
get ahead of rivals, but they must act on the square, and 
they will have no trouble about their exhibition grounds,” 
said the young clerk for Mr. Garno, with a great air of 
virtue. 

Phil Rushington quickly stepped around to the other 
side of the team, and by doing so obtained a fair view 
of the face of the youth. 


“This Explains Everything. 37 

“Louis Denton, formerly student at Springvale Aca- 
demy !” burst from his lips. 

The other faced about for the first time, but his eyes 
fell as they met the steady gaze of Phil Rushington. 

It was no wonder that Louis Denton could not look the 
ex-champion athlete of Springvale in the face. For 
there, in the presence of several other students, Rushing- 
ton had given him the severest drubbing of his life; ana 
afterward, as our hero well knew, Denton made a cow- 
ardly attempt on Phil’s fife, in consequence of which the 
fellow had left the academy, never to return. 

“This explains everything!” exclaimed Phil Rush- 
ington. 


CHAPTER V. 


AT THE GATE. 

The history of the relations between Louis Denton and 
Phil Rushington is a long one, but enough may be said 
here to indicate a sufficient reason for the behavior of 
the young fellow in the incidents which are to follow. 

After having soundly thrashed the fellow in a fair 
fist encounter, Rushington would have been glad to act 
a friendly part toward Denton. But the latter exhibited 
a revengeful disposition, and committed a cowardly act, 
which came near costing Phil his life. Later, even, our 
hero saved his enemy from drowning in the lake, at the 
imminent peril of his own life. After that Dent — as he 
was called — seemed for a time to try to behave more 
generously; but he was unpopular, and found it more 
comfortable in the end to leave the school for good. 

From that day on Phil had seen or heard nothing of 
his old enemy. It was a surprise to him, therefore, to 
encounter him now, and under conditions that testified to 
the truth of the saying that “a leopard cannot change 
its spots.’* 

Now that it was no longer possible for Denton to con- 
ceal his identity from Phil Rushington, he faced the latter 
squarely, and a sneering and defiant expression settled 
upon his face. 

“Pleasant to meet an old friend, isn’t it !” he remarked. 


At tlie Gate. 


39 

v/ith the disagreeable smile which Rush remembered so 
well. 

“If it isn’t pleasant then it is your choice that renders 
it otherwise. There is not the slightest reason, Denton, 
why you and I should not meet as friends, and be ready 
to do each other a good turn instead of an ill one. If 
you remember, the last turn between us was good rather 
than ill.” 

“Want to pull on me through the plea of gratitude, 
eh?” sneered Denton. 

“You know better than that. What I would wish for 
is an absolute burial of the past. Come, man, let us start 
in square, and when it comes to a settlement of this little 
business matter it can be done without prejudice on either 
side. All I want is the right. There seems to be a con- 
fusion of rights here, and there is no reason why you 
should not be able to clear the matter up. Say, Dent, in 
memory of the best part of the old times, let’s act square 
with each other.” 

Phil’s tone was kind and his manner cheery and frank, 
and it was not easy for the moment for the other to hold 
out against him. There is in every heart the elements of 
generosity, but in some they seem to be weighted down 
by so many selfish impulses that they cannot show them- 
selves. 

It may have been so with Denton. Phil, in any case, 
was not inclined to be uncharitable, and whatever he 
might do would be done from the force of necessity be- 
cause reason and right dealing could not be made in any 
other way to prevail. 


40 


At the Gate. 


Denton was silent. Starr had alighted from the team 
and was directing the movements of the loaded wagons 
belonging to the Tandy circus. 

For a moment it looked as though the kindly persua- 
sions of Phil Rushington might prevail, and Denton be 
induced to allow the dispute to be settled on its merits. 
But there came back to him the memory of the old hatred 
of the handsome and successful youth at his side, and he 
hardened his heart. 

“Who has intimated that I don’t intend to act squarely 
with you?” he demanded, ill-naturedly. 

Then Phil realized that the fellow was in no mood 
to be pacified. 

“He is bound to try and make me all the trouble that 
he can,” was the reflection of the young circus owner. 

Instantly the latter assumed an air of dignity, and his 
tone was businesslike as he asked : 

“Is Mr. Garno, the agent for the grounds, in town, 
Mr. Denton?” 

“I have said once that he is not.” 

“When does he return?” 

“In two or three days.” 

“You say all engagements of the grounds are booked ?” 

“Always.” 

“Well, I have Mr. Garno’s signature to a paper dated 
the thirteenth, and on the strength of it I came here and 
advertised my circus for this day. I am already in pos- 
session of the grounds. If you let the grounds aftervv^ard 
for the same date to the Tandy company, it is a loss 
for them, and they will have legal recourse against the 


At the Gate. 


41 


<^Drporation owning the grounds. It is too bad, and I 
would gladly save them from loss if I could do so without 
incurring a greater one for myself. That is the way the 
affair stands. Did you wish to see my paper?” 

‘T don’t care how many papers you may have, so long 
as they are not genuine. It is easy to get papers filled 
out for any old thing.” 

“How about getting them signed?” 

“That is easy, too. A signature proves nothing unless 
it is genuine.” 

“Do you imply, Mr. Denton, that I have been forging 
the name of Mr. Garno?” 

“I know nothing about it except that there is no record 
of the engagement on our books, and I have to go by the 
record.” 

“And I care nothing about your record, since I hold a 
signed paper. You will find when it comes to a settle- 
ment of this little affair that a book record, or, rather, 
the absence of one, will not count against a signature.” 

Denton showed his teeth viciously. 

“You will find, Phil Rushington, that you can’t run 
a town like this one, and have everybody take up with 
you and hoot and cheer, as they did at the academy. I 
left word before I came away to have the police settle 
this affair if you refused to go off the grounds when I 
ordered. Now, what will you do? Tandy’s rights are 
the only ones I can recognize. Will you get out of the 
way peaceably?” 

“Look yonder, Denton, and you will see what course 
I have decided to pursue.” 


42 


At the Gate. 


Rush pointed toward the grounds, which all his wagons 
had entered by this time. So swiftly were the men work- 
ing that already the white canvas of the big tent began 
to show itself. The men were shouting and singing, as 
men do at such work, and there appeared to be no inten- 
tion on their part of minding the question of rights to 
the grounds. 

At this moment Starr came up. He was redder if 
possible than ever, 

“You said that this crowd would get off the ground in 
short order if you arrived,” he exclaimed, turning upon 
Denton. 

“They have got their orders, but that Rushington will 
have to be arrested by the police, and have his stuff set 
off before he will come to terms. He knows no better 
than to make a fight of it whether he is right or wrong.” 

“What good will that do me after it is too late for me 
to set up my tents?” 

“We’ll have him get right out of the way. You can 
be getting your stuff drawn in on to the grounds. Set 
your men to work, the same as Rushington is doing. 
They won’t dare to lay a hand on you. Go ahead — what 
are you waiting for?” 

“I’m not going to go into a fight unless I’m sure some- 
body in the town will back me up in it.” 

“I have agreed to do that.” 

“What are you but a boy?” 

“I represent Mr. Garno, who is the agent • for the 
grounds.” 

“How old are you?” 


At the Gate. 


43 


Denton hesitated. 

“Just twenty-one,” he answered. 

This was all heard by Rushington. The latter hap- 
pened to know the exact age of Louis Denton, and that 
the latter was but little more than nineteen. But he did 
not correct the statement, as that could be done at the 
proper time, should there be a court case made of it. 

It was clear that the affair could not be settled so far 
as Denton was concerned without trouble ; but it was pos- 
sible that Starr would refuse to take the responsibility 
of incurring a fight on the strength of the promised sup- 
port of a boastful young man in the absence of the real 
agent for the grounds. 

Phil was anxious enough to avoid complications, and 
there had already been more of delay than he relished. 
It was time for the arrival of the cages and performers 
belonging to his show, and as he thought of it he heard 
the rumble of more wagons coming from the direction 
of the station. 

Glancing in that direction, he saw the elephants, of 
which there were now but two belonging to his show. 
At the same time, he saw Starr approach the drivers of 
the Tandy wagons, and hold a consultation with them. 

Walt Arkwright had remained on the inside of the gate 
since the arrival of Starr and Denton, and he did not 
yet even know that the one who was acting agent for 
the grounds was an ex-student from Springvale. 

Rushington found Walt, and in a few words explained 
to him the situation as it then stood. 


44 


At the Gate. 


Just then Walt pointed toward the gate. 

“Starr has ordered his wagons to come, and they’re 
going to try it,” he exclaimed. 

Phil sprang to the entrance with grimly compressed 
lips. 


CHAPTER VI. 


A NOVEL CONTEST. 

Walt Arkwright followed Rushington to the entrance 
gate. At the same time from beyond a clump of trees 
the two elephants appeared, with their trainer riding be- 
side them, and they were making for the gate at a quick 
step. 

The horses of one of the Tandy teams were just at 
the gate as the form of Phil Rushington blocked the way. 

“Stop !” cried the latter. “I forbid you to drive in !” 

“Out of the way or we go over you!” 

“Think well of it before you disobey my order.” 

The horses had been pulled up, for they could not ad- 
vance without trampling Rushington under foot, as it 
seemed, and the driver had not quite the audacity to do 
that without further warning. 

“Look out!” exclaimed Walt, in a low voice. 

Phil beckoned to the man with the elephants, which 
were then almost at the gate. The man dismounted and 
advanced. 

Not a dozen words were spoken by Rushington to the 
trainer, and the latter only nodded and grinned in re- 
sponse to these. But there was a perfect understanding, 
and as the driver of the foremost of Tandy’s wagons 
again cracked his whip the elephants started at the same 
time. 

The trainer was speaking to the elephants. The noise 


46 


A Novel Contest. 


of the wagons, the shouts of the men, the general confu- 
sion incident to the hurried advance, drowned the sound 
of his voice, so that not even Arkwright, who was near- 
est, heard what was said. But the result was patent 
enough to all. 

The big animals advanced at a quicker pace, and the 
foremost crowded his big body up against the horses of 
the wagon which was trying to get through the gateway. 
The horses plunged and snorted with terror, the driver 
yelled and swung his whip, and Starr ran toward them 
joining his hoarse shouts to the hurley-burley of sounds 
in incoherent commands. 

Rushington prudently got out of the way and looked 
on, breathing a little quicker, perhaps, but otherwise seem- 
ing as calm as ever. To him it was a moment in which 
he was to triumph once more over opposition, as he had 
so often done before. 

With him to triumph was not to exult, for he had jus- 
tice on his side, and there was no positive feeling of 
enmity toward those over whom he was triumphing. 

It was an exciting moment. The driver of the fore- 
most wagon was in an ugly mood, for it was the second 
time that he had been stopped from going into the 
grounds after attempting it. He seemed determined to 
persist in the attempt this time, and he made a frantic 
effort to drive his horses into a run and so to get them 
past the elephant which was trying to crowd in ahead 
of him. 

The horses did nobly, but the driver forgot that an 
elephant is much more speedy in its movements than its 


A Novel Contest. 


47 


ponderous bulk would lead one to expect. The big ani- 
mal kept abreast of the team, and just as the horses were 
passing in at the gate the elephant caught a hind wheel 
of the vehicle and suddenly braced for a pull. 

The yelling ceased, and every man, whether friend or 
foe of Phil Rushington, became a silent and breathless 
witness of the strange contest. 

The driver of the team lashed his horses, and the steeds 
strained at their load. The elephant strained at the 
wheel, the wagon tilted, the load swayed, the axle creaked, 
the whole team seemed doomed to annihilation. 

The other drivers drew back out of the way. The 
contest was a lively one to witness, but they were not 
ambitious to take a hand in it. 

Starr was the only man in the crowd to retain the use 
of his voice in the crisis. After the first suspenseful 
moment he dashed into the front rank, gesticulating fran- 
tically. 

“Shoot the beast ! Shoot him !” he cried. 

Denton, alone in the light buggy, was ready to give 
the combatants a wide berth. Walt Arkwright saw the 
fellow edging away, and without a word as to his inten- 
tion to Phil, Walt darted to the side of the trainer, who 
stood back with the smaller elephant. 

“That young fellow in the buggy is responsible for all 
the trouble, and he means to prevent our giving our show 
on these grounds if he can do it. Can’t you make Ellen 
give the fellow a scare?” 

It was Walt who uttered the suggestion to the trainer. 


48 


A Novel Contest. 


The latter glanced at Denton, sized him up pretty ac- 
curately in that single look, and smiled. 

“We won’t let Ellen hurt him,” he said. “But she may 
give him a lift if she likes.” 

The man shouted something, which no one else under- 
stood, to the animal which was pulling against the horses. 
Then he dodged back to the side of the smaller elephant, 
which was the one called Ellen, and said something to her, 
also in words v/hich were meaningless to the men who 
heard him. 

Instantly the beast wheeled, looked about her, and at 
her attendant. Then she marched toward Denton’s team, 
and before the latter could divine her intention he was 
lifted from the seat and swung aloft. 

Such a yell as went up to the clouds! And Denton 
furnished all the breath for it, and his legs did the kicking 
against the empty air, and his arms swung like the sails 
of a windmill. 

Phil Rushington saw what was going on, and he was 
not slow to take advantage of it. In a flash he was at 
the trainer’s side. 

“Have Ellen hold him a minute,” he hurriedly said. 

“Easy with him — he mustn’t be hurt. Can you depend 
on Ellen minding orders ?” 

“Sure thing,” said the trainer. 

“All right. Ah I a wagon smashed ! Now I guess the 
other teams will keep out of the way!” 

At the moment the wheel at which the other elephant 
was pulling collapsed, and the wagon went over, spilling 
its load, including the driver. The horses scrambled to 


A Novel Contest. 


49 


clear themselves, but two of Rushington’s men dashed 
to the rescue and caught them by the head before they 
could make a run for it. 

It was one of those moments in which a great deal 
happens. Phil could see that the attempt to enter at the 
gate was unlikely to be renewed while the elephant acted 
as doorman. Starr’s blustering threats were not success- 
ful in inducing any one to try a shot at the big animal. 

Meanwhile Ellen had lowered Denton to within about 
four feet of the ground, and there she held him suspended 
motionless awaiting further orders. 

'‘Easy, Ellen,” the trainer ordered. 

At the same time our hero stepped up to Denton, who 
had ceased kicking, and who hung limp and with staring 
eyes in the grasp of the elephant. 

"Dent, I don’t want to have you smashed,” said Phil, 
persuasively. "So don’t you think you had better try 
and make terms with me, and I will make terms with 
Ellen, who would think nothing of tossing you ninety 
times higher than the moon if she were told to do it.” 

Dent uttered something which sounded as if it might 
have been profane if he had the breath to give it voice. 

"Be careful, Dent,” cautioned Rush. "You have made 
me a deal of trouble this morning, and you know per- 
fectly well that ! am merely enforcing a just claim. You 
don’t really dare to call in the majesty of the law for a 
settlement of the matter, knowing as you do that you 
could not put up the shadow of a case. There isn’t time 
now for a discussion of the merits of our claims, for you 


50 


A Novel Contest. 


will not relish hanging there in that fashion. I want a 
pledge from you. Will you give it?’' 

“Not if I know ” began the youth. Then he 

checked himself, for the trainer had given a sign to the 
animal, and Denton began to rise. 

“Don’t ! don’t !” he yelled. 

“I want a pledge from you. Will you give it?” re- 
peated our hero, in the same mild tones. 

“Yes, yes ! Let me down !” screamed Denton. 

“A little lower, Ellen,” said Phil. The trainer re- 
peated the order in terms that the animal would under- 
stand, and Dent was again lowered to the four-foot limit. 
There he dangled, fairly gasping with terror. 

“About the letting of these grounds to the Tandy show,” 
Rushington proceeded. “Are you going to hold out on 
the business, now that you know as well as I do that I 
have the only rightful claim to the grounds for this 
day ?” 

“The books show ” began Denton. 

He did not see the mute signal from Phil and the 
trainer, but he was conscious that he was again begin- 
ning to rise, and he hastily cried : 

“It — it may have been a mistake! I didn’t mean to 
do it, and I’m willing to make it right 1 I’ll make it right, 
sure as I live !” 

“Do you acknowledge that my engagement comes 
first?” 

“I didn’t think so in the first place. I thought you 
were bluffing. But if you have a paper signed by Garno, 
of course it is all right. I can’t dispute anything with 


A Novel Contest. 


51 


his signature on it. But you can see that it puts me in 
an awkward place.” 

“Ellen has you in an awkward place now, Denton.” 

“Let up on me^and I will drop the matter right where 
it is. Sure as I live, I thought Tandy’s company was 
ahead of yours, and I didn’t want to let you bluff them 
out of their rights.” 

“Virtuous young man,” smiled Rush. “Now that you 
are convinced you made a mistake of course you will be 
equally virtuous in correcting it. You ought to make 
things right with the Tandy show, but I will have to 
leave that for you to settle with them. But there is one 
thing you will have to do, just to make it sure that we 
may have no more annoyance from his source. I will 
speak to Mr. Starr, and you must say to him just what 
you have said to me.” 

Starr was called, and Denton repeated to him the state- 
ment which he had just made, virtually acknowledging 
that he had misrepresented the case in pretending that he 
believed the Tandy engagement to be the prior one. 

Starr raved, more savage toward Denton than he had 
been against Rushington. Meanwhile Ellen released her 
victim. And without another word Dent jumped into the 
buggy and drove furiously back to the town. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE CONSOLIDATED SHOWS. 

Denton was more scared than hurt, and more hurt in 
his pride than in any part of his body by the antics of 
Ellen, the elephant. His statement concerning the rights 
of the Rushington circus to the grounds left the other 
show without “grounds’’ for resistance, legal or other- 
wise. 

Starr raved, his face several shades redder than before. 
He was not the sort of man to take such things kindly. 
He had an overturned load of property blocking the way 
in through the gate, and a gang of ill-natured men to 
growl over every order he gave them. 

The driver whose load had been upset by the elephant 
had received a fall that gave him a lame shoulder and a 
bruise under his eye, and he made no bones of telling 
Starr what he thought of him. 

“Next time,” Phil heard the man remark, “I try to 
go into grounds said to have been hired by this show I 
see the documents all straight, and there will be no other 
show already there that I have got to fight. If you want 
any fighting done, you will have to hire a separate gang 
of men to do it, I reckon.” 

“That’s right,” chimed in another. 

“What Tandy’s Two-Cent Thunder needs,” said a 
third, who had heard of the title applied to the show by 
Phil Rushington, “is a little less lightning.” 


The Consolidated Shows. 


53 


'Too much Starr-light,” chipped in one of Phil’s men, 
who had been ordered to help brace up the wagon and 
replace the load. 

There was a roar of laughter, and that silenced the 
tirade of Starr, for he realized that a man who has made 
himself unpopular with a gang of workmen must give 
up all idea of trying to control them. 

The way was soon cleared and the rest of Rushing- 
ton’s wagons, cages and other properties filed peacefully 
in through the gate. Phil sought out Starr, who was 
meekly directing the driver to be careful of the wagon 
with the bent axle, whose wheel revolved with a wobble. 

“If you are a reasonable man, Mr. Starr, as I doubt 
not that you are ordinarily,” said our hero, pleasantly, 
“you will realize that I had to make you the trouble that 
I have made purely in self-defense. You were used by 
that young upstart, who had a grudge against me, for 
the purpose of taking revenge on me for what he believes 
to be an old injury. You are not interested in the affair 
between Denton and me, and I will say no more about it. 
I am sorry you have been put to so much trouble and ex- 
pense. There will be heavy loss to you. Anything that 
I or my men can do to help you out will be done cheer- 
fully.” 

Starr glared for a moment in silence. Then he said, 
more graciously : 

“You’ve got there, and I’m left, and I suppose I won’t 
be the fool to squeal over it. But that young Denton 
will get his head wrung off’n him if I get a sight of 
him !” 


54 


The Consolidated Shows. 


^‘You have no idea how slight the fellow’s loss will be, 
if you do nothing worse than to carry , out that threat,” 
smiled Phil. 

The other grinned. 

“You’ve got it right, I guess.” 

“The corporation controlling these grounds may be 
liable for your loss — I’m not sure on that point, of course. 
Whether Denton or his people can be made to pay I don’t 
know. If you need the use of one of my wagons to take 
the place of the one of yours that was broken, until you 
can have that one repaired, it is at your service.” 

“Much obliged, Mr. Rushington. You are a squarer 
sort of man than I took you to be.” 

“That is nothing. Perhaps it was rough in me to let 
my elephant pull your wagon to pieces. But I gave the 
driver fair warning, and I felt as if I had a right to 
keep your wagons off the grounds at any cost.” 

“It was rough on us, but I suppose we ought to have 
kept out of the way after you had warned us of what you 
would do if we tried to come in. We’ll let the matter 
rest. If I need one of your wagons I’ll let you know 
But I guess we’ll need the crowd that you will get at your 
show more, for this affair will advertise you, and we have 
got to put up our tents in any old place that happens to 
be available.” 

It was found that the wagon which the elephant had 
tackled could not be used until it was repaired, and so 
the offer of Phil Rushington to furnish one of his prop- 
erty wagons for the temporary use of the other show 
was accepted. This helped to heal the fancied injury. 


The Consolidated Shows. 


55 


and before the hour for the street parade arrived 
Mr. Tandy, of the rival circus, came on to the grounds 
and inquired for Phil Rushington. 

Tandy was a small man, with shrewd eyes and a bus- 
tling air. He seemed to be trying to ^‘size up” our hero 
with one glance. 

'‘Younger man, even, than I was led to believe,” he 
remarked, with a nervous shrug of his shoulder. 

“I hope you don’t count that as altogether against 
me,” smiled Phil. 

“Oh, no. I knew you were young. Saw you men- 
tioned in a newspaper as the ‘boy showman,’ but you know 
they call a man a boy orator or a boy politician if he gets 
into it at thirty, and I supposed that was about your 
figure. Really, you are very young. And you have a 
good show. But, say, Mr. Rushington, this was bad 
business for me, coming here when you were ahead of 
me on the grounds, and bound to draw more than half of 
the business, anyway. I haven’t a place where I can put 
up my tents properly, unless I use the pasture lot oppo- 
site this one. And that will divide up the business^ 
Don’t you see!” 

“It might not be well for either of us, that is a fact.” 

“Of course you would get the bulk of the patronage, 
and yet I must be to all the expense just the same. Do 
you know an idea occurred to me when I found that we 
were in a bad scrape, that some arrangement might be 
made to help both of us?” 

“What was it?” 


56 


The Consolidated Shows. 


“With my two tents on the lot opposite I would draw 
some business, wouldn’t I ?” 

“There can be no doubt of it.’^ 

“But you don’t think I would get half?” 

“That is a matter of opinion.” 

“I’ll be honest about it, Rushington. I have a good 
show, but I suspect that you have as much in your single 
tent as I have in my two. Your horses look better than 
mine. If I had got here ahead of you I would have 
done well, and then you could have done well a month 
later. But my show is new and raw, betwixt you and 
me, Rushington.” 

“It is kind of you to say that, Mr. Tandy.” 

“It’s merely shutting off all the bluster and bombast 
that we have to put on to the bills. It is spoken between 
ourselves as business men. You wouldn’t repeat it. 
Your show isn’t the only one on earth, no matter what 
your bills say.” 

“That is right.” 

“Now, I am afraid that you will suspect me of some- 
thing crooked if I say what I had in mind.” 

“I don’t think I will be unjust to you in the matter of 
judgment.” 

“All right. Then I’ll make the proposition, and you 
may say frankly that you don’t like it if you don’t, 
and no hard feelings. Is that right?” 

“Yes, and go ahead, though I will say in advance that 
I am cautious when it comes to new propositions of any 
kind.” 

“It is this : Let me turn in with my attractions and 


The Consolidated Shows. 


57 


add my show to yours to-day under the same canvas. 
Call it the Consolidated Rushington and Tandy Circuses 
and Hipprodrome. I’ll have bills posted before noon, and 
we’ll join in the street parade.” 

This was certainly a somewhat startling proposition, 
yet it may be said that Rushington suspected what was 
coming before the word was actually spoken. And be- 
fore the word was spoken, too, he had come to a decision. 

“How about the financial part of the arrangement?” he 
asked. 

“I am willing to leave that wholly to you. There is 
no money for me in this town to-day in any case, unless 
somebody makes me a present. Leave it that way. If 
I get a part of my expenses paid here to-day I shall con- 
sider myself lucky — now that is the truth.” 

“You are perfectly willing, then, to leave it so that I 
may allow you what seems to be drawn in in addition 
to what I would be likely to get if you were to give your 
show on the hillside opposite?” 

“Yes. I would get some people from you, of course, 
but I don’t think it would pay for me to put up my tents, 
and I wouldn’t do it except that I hate to have the name 
of being put out like a candle.” 

“Very well, your proposition is accepted, and we will 
immediately set about the arrangement of the programme. 
If there is the shadow of a disagreement on that score 
I will ask you to drop out of it. On the other hand, I 
shall be fair with you, Mr. Tandy.” 

“I made the proposition, and agree to accept your 
terms, and if you think you don’t take an extra dollar on 


The Consolidated Shows. 


58 

account of the share in the attractions furnished by my 
people, then I will not accept one from you. Fm a man 
of business. If I could set up my tents yonder and pull 
away the whole of your business I would do it. But I 
know I can’t, and I’m willing to get out of the box I’m 
in the best way I can.” 

This settled it. A brief consultation was held for the 
arrangement of Tandy’s share in the programme. Our 
hero found the other remarkably fair and free from jeal- 
ous)^ Indeed, Phil could not help but admire the spirit 
in which his rival met what was really quite a misfortune 
to him. And yet Phil was resolved to be on his guard 
and to see to it that the other had no chance to take ad- 
vantage of him through the opportunity to be on the in- 
side of the show. 

It was decided that both should put their best features 
for the street show into the parade. Tandy volunteered 
to see that a few bills were printed announcing the con- 
solidation of the two circuses. Then due announcement 
would be made by criers during the parade, which would 
amply advertise the matter. 

“It strikes me,” said Phil to Walt, “that the combina- 
tion will be an assured success, and much better for both 
than it would be to attempt to divide the crowd. All 
who would have gone to the Tandy show will now surely 
attend ours, and as it will appear that twice as much will 
be given for the money as would be the case if either 
circus were to exhibit alone, a larger number will buy 
tickets.” 

“Good idea. ' And queer that Tandy should turn in in 


1 he Consolidated Shows. 59 

that way, after there promised to be such a racket on 
account of the rivalry.” 

“Pleasanter, Walt. I wish things might always turn 
out in a peaceful way like that.” 

“This hasn’t turned out yet — really,” suggested Walt. 
But our hero was happy over the prospect of peace, and 
would not listen to a croak. 

At this moment the performers in the two circuses 
began to arrive, and they made ready for the street 
parade. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


EONA, THE GIRL CENTAUR. 

In th€ street parade the weakness of the Tandy Circus 
came out prominently enough. The Tandy band was 
about as poor a collection of noisy musical instruments 
as Phil Rushington had ever heard. It was so bad that, 
after playing once, Phil sent word back to the leader not 
to play again on the street. 

Tandy had one lean old elephant, and his horses were 
ill-fed and poorly groomed. As our hero saw how they 
looked he was sorry that he had not inspected the outfit 
before allowing it to appear on the street with his own. 

Of course, no small circus can expect to string out a 
grand procession of magnificent chariots and other fea- 
tures a mile in length. But Phil made it a point to have 
only the most spick-and-span features, so far as neatness 
and freshness of appearance went. 

Yet there were two or three good features in the Tandy 
Circus, and of these Phil made the most. He was also 
informed that Tandy had a daring male rider, who would 
create a sensation when it came to the ring performance. 

The Rushington part of the parade, however, made up 
for what the other lacked, and there was applause as 
some of the beautiful and easy riders passed. Rushing- 
ton himself made, as usual, a fine appearance on his horse, 
and his two star female riders, whose names appeared on 
the bills as Mamie and Isabel, attracted the usual amount 


Eona, the Girl Centaur. 6i 

of attention, it being well known that they were probably 
the best female bareback riders in the country. 

Tandy did not ride on the street with his circus, and 
the two organizations were kept entirely distinct from 
each other. 

Tandy had one girl rider only. Rushington did not 
see her at all until she appeared in the procession, and 
as he looked at her pallid face and sunken eyes he won- 
dered if she could have the elasticity of body and spirits 
required for acrobatic feats on the back of her horse. 

She was billed as Eona, the girl Centaur — a high- 
sounding circus name, which might hide only the plainest 
mediocrity as a rider. Mamie, the dashing girl rider in 
Rushington’s ring, looked at Eona scornfully, while Isa- 
bel, the haughty star, seemed to regard the pale girl as 
scarcely worthy of recognition. 

Walt took more interest in the stranger than did any 
other member of the Rushington circus company. To 
him her pallor and a certain sadness of countenance ap- 
pealed with peculiar force. 

He was eager to speak to her, and when the proces- 
sion at last filed in at the gate of the ground an hour 
before the time for the performance to begin, Walt Ark- 
wright was at hand to show her the way to the horse 
tent, and to take her hand as she dismounted. 

“Is this your first season in the ring. Miss Eona?” 
Walt ventured to ask as the girl gave him a glance of 
mild surprise in return for his gallantry. 

“My first season?” she echoed, as if she did not quite 
comprehend his meaning. 


02 


Eona, the Girl Centaur. 


“You looked rather — rather young,” Walt faltered. 
And yet, as he looked at her and uttered the remark he 
was impressed by a faint, flitting smile on her thin lips. 

“I have had a little previous experience,” she replied. 
“Still,” she modestly added, “I do not expect to shine 
very brightly when I come to ride in comparison with 
the two stars in the Rushington circus.” 

“You are really the star in Tandy’s show, aren’t 3W1?” 

“He calls me that. But then, you know somebody 
must be called that, whether they deserve it or not.” 

“I suppose so. But I suspect that you can ride some, 
after all. You were very graceful in the parade.” 

She looked at Walt in that odd fashion again, as if she 
wondered if he were as honest as he seemed. 

“I don’t often fall off my horse when I am riding in 
the street parade,” she said, demurely. “But I don’t 
really make much of a boast as a rider. I just do as 
well as I can, and Mr. Tandy wanted to call something 
belonging to his show a star, so I consented to his mak- 
ing use of me in the place. Tandy is poor, and he has 
to go easy on weighty salaries.” 

“Did you ever see our Isabel ride?” Walt pursued, for 
there was to him a certain kind of fascination in talking 
with the pale and listless acting-rider of the Tandy com- 
pany. 

“I never saw her ride,” was the reply. 

“She seems to have been born in the saddle.” 

“That makes it easier than it would be if she had to 
acquire the equestrienne art without any natural gifts.” 

“I presume so. But I suspect that you are too modest 


Eona, the Girl Centaur. 


63 


in your pretensions. I shall expect some fine riding 
when I see you come into the ring. I don’t believe that 
you are very much afraid to ride before the two Rush- 
ington stars.” 

“Some afraid,” she smiled. 

“But you won’t fall off your horse?” 

“I may not to-day, because I will try extra hard on 
account of your proud girl riders looking at me.” 

For a moment it seemed as if the girl might actually 
smile, but she evidently thought better of it and sighed 
instead. 

“She may not be so sad clear through, after all,” 
thought Walt. “Nor so bad,” was a second thought, as 
he saw her petting her horse and moving about with a 
peculiar sinuous movement of her slender body that re- 
minded him of what he had read of Oriental dancing 
girls. 

During the rest of the time before the performance 
Isabel failed to receive the attentions which she had of 
late enjoyed from Walt. To such attentions she had 
been quite indifferent, but now, as she suspected that 
Eona, the Girl Centaur of the Tandy company, was get- 
ting them, instead, she felt just a bit spiteful. 

“Mr. Arkwright has queer taste, to be so taken up with 
that ghost of a girl,” was Isabel’s comment in speaking 
of it to Mamie. 

“No man could call the loikes of her a peach!” said 
Mamie. 

“Do you suppose she can ride?” 

“She can stay on her nag, it may be, and it is loike 


64 


Eona, the Girl Centaur. 


that she is the koind to stand on one foot and stick out 
the other, and look the while as if she was faling dan- 
gerous to be so safe.” 

“She seems to have an inditferent, discouraged way 
with her, and as Mr. Arkwright feels that way a good 
deal of the time, it may be that he has gone to her for 
sympathy.” 

“Oi think it is sympathy that he be’s nading if he can 
foind annything to interest him in her.” 

It was not often that Mamie and Isabel talked to- 
gether in such a friendly manner, but for once there was 
common ground of sympathy between them, and when 
Eona came in a moment later it was a wonder that her 
ears did not burn at the things which they said of her. 

But she seemed to be entirely indifferent. She was 
pale and listless and she seated herself on a camp stool 
in a dejected way, as if she would have liked to sink out 
of sight into the earth. She appeared to be so lonely 
and unhappy that Mamie, who had a kind heart, in spite 
of the hard things she would say, felt conscience-smitten 
at having spoken of her in the way she had done. 

The Irish girl approached her and spoke in a voice 
that was meant to be friendly. 

“Ye don’t look as if ye were feeling quite well, miss,” 
Mamie ventured. 

Eona raised her eyes, and Mamie felt a strange kind 
of thrill go through her as she met their glance. They 
were beautiful eyes, after all, with a quality in them that 
was fascinating even to another woman. 

“I don’t get much sleep,” she answered. 


65 


Eona, the Girl Centaur. 

"The Tandy show travels altogether with teams?’' 

Yes. One is jolted out of one nap and into another.” 

"Tver ride in anny other circus ?” 

“Three seasons with Barnum & Bailey before ” 

The girl checked herself and sighed. Mamie stared 
incredulously. 

""And why did you lave them?” 

""I was sick for one season, and my place was filled. 
Then there was another reason.” 

""Tandy was quite a drop from Barnum, Oi’m think- 
in’,” said Mamie, who did not believe a word of what 
the other had said. 

""Must have been many years ago,” Isabel chipped in. 

""I was quite young — once,” said Eona. 

The others stared. Then they exchanged glances. 
They began to suspect that they were not having their 
amusement entirely alone, and that they were not mak- 
ing the pale girl weaken so very much, after all. If she 
had not looked so innocent, they would have suspected 
that she was making fun of them secretly. 

But, to look at her, that did not seem to be possible. 

Phil Rushington came in, and a glance at the faces 
of Mamie and Isabel told him that they were ""taking 
the measure” of the new girl. And, in turn, he gave 
her a quick glance, and she met it, and, even as had been 
the case with Mamie, he was startled by the singular 
beauty of her eyes. 

""Not so bad, after all,” was his thought. 

""Are you all in good form for the work, girls?” he 
asked. 


66 


Eona, the Girl Centaur. 


“Oi'm faling as if Oi might be crowded in the ring/^ 
laughed Mamie. 

“And I hope I shall not be extinguished like a meteor 
falling into a lake/’ supplemented Isabel. 

Eona’s eyes were on her pretty slippers and she 
sighed. 

Rush noted the extreme slenderness of her waist, and 
that her slippers could not have been larger than ones, 
and he thought of suggesting that she use some rouge 
on her cheeks, but decided that she might be more in- 
teresting in a way as she was. While he was thinking of 
these points the band struck up in the big tent, and he 
said : 

“Perhaps Eona would rather ride first?” 

“As Mr. Rushington pleases,” she answered. 


CHAPTER IX. 


A NEW STAR. 

While the parade had been on the street Rushington 
had received from Tandy another piece of news, which 
to him was neither surprising nor startling. 

“There is a third tent show in this town to-day,” was 
what the man said. 

“What is that?” 

“A crew of circus ‘tramps’ — acrobats and clowns who 
have been turned away from good shows because of 
misbehavior, have gotten together, bought or stolen some 
canvas, a few lean horses, and they’re going about the 
country getting such crowds as they can. They will 
pitch their tent on the lot opposite to the grounds where 
we exhibit and at ten and twenty cents a head they will 
try to run us out.” 

“Let them try,” laughed our hero. And that was the 
last he thought of them until he saw the dingy tent^ that 
was pitched in the pasture lot opposite to the fair grounds. 

The crowd that they drew was not a large nor a select . 
one, but there could be no doubt but there was talent in 
the troupe of “tramp” performers, and there were plenty 
of curious people who were willing to pay ten or twenty 
cents just to see what was inside of the small tent from 
within which issued strains of music which was better 
than that of most circus bands. 

But by the people in the bigger tent the show in the 


68 


A New Star. 


open pasture lot was entirely forgotten as they became 
absorbed in the acts in the ring. 

Rushington sauntered into the tent as Eona rode out. 
He had doubted the propriety of allowing the pale girl 
to ride at all, for there had been comments made that 
suggested possible unpopularity before the beginning of 
the performance, and he knew what it meant to put an 
unpopular actor or feature into his ring. The story of 
it might follow him for a good while. A good thing is 
more easily forgotten than a poor one in the show 
business. 

For one thing, he liked to have his riders and all others 
who had anything to do to show animation of manner, 
for that pleased even more than the skill displayed in 
the performance. A simple ride around the ring, well 
mounted, and with graceful salutes to the audience, often 
drew forth applause. 

Eona appeared as if she were likely to fall asleep on 
her horse, or as if she were feeling sad or out of sorts 
about something. In the street parade she attracted no 
attention. 

As Phil entered the tent, he saw Eona sitting her horse 
easily, and that the animal was increasing its pace as it 
struck out into the arena. He observed her keenly, and 
was surprised to see that there was a peculiar quality 
to her riding that could not be described by any of the 
phrases which are ordinarily applied to the art. 

It was like the expression in her eyes, indescribably 
fascinating. He found himself watching her with a 
strange kind of eagerness. And as he glanced over the 


A New Star. 


69 


tiers of seats he could see that the spectators were ob- 
serving the rider with the same kind of interest, as 
though there was a fascination in her personality. 

That was the secret of her charm. Of this there could 
be no doubt. 

The horse which Eona rode was the only one in the 
Tandy show that was of real value. The animal had 
great speed, and the rider made the most of his quality. 

Once she went around the ring, and then sprang to 
her feet and went through many of the ordinary acts 
which are seen in every circus. There was nothing 
original or startling in anything that she did; and yet 
the observers seemed to be holding their breaths with 
suspense. 

It was all because of her mysterious personality and 
a certain rhythmical quality of her motions, which were 
poetic rather than daring or dashing. 

“She is a wonder!” Phil heard a man say from a seat 
near him. At the same time there were several bursts 
of applause, and our hero wondered what they were 
applauding. She saluted the crowd several times, and 
her acknowledgments of their appreciation had in it a 
shy sort of charm that kept them applauding so that she 
would salute in return. 

They seemed to wish to keep her doing the simplest 
things for the mere charm of having her do them. At 
last, when she dropped back to a sitting posture on her 
horse and rode from the ring, she was followed by the 
wildest of cheers. 

“Great!” “Wonderful!” “Beautiful!” were the cries 


70 A New Star. 

that filled the air, and then there were calls for her to 
return. 

Phil was in the dressing-room when Eona returned to 
it, with a brighter glow in her pale cheeks, and a new 
light in her eyes. But she did not look at him, and he 
felt that she was not seeking his approbation. And for 
that very reason she was destined to receive all the more 
of it. 

'‘Have you been told that you are a most charming 
rider. Miss Eona?” he asked, standing before her. 

“My riding is rather plain, I think,” she answered. 
And yet, although she met his eyes for only an instant, 
he could see that she was pleased to have his praise. 

“You do no startling things, and if you did them they 
would seem to be out of place in you. But everybody 
was charmed, of that there can be no doubt, and at the 
end of the performance I shall ask you to go out and 
receive their cheers. They want to see you again.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Rushington.” 

“You say you have filled engagements with the largest 
shows ?” 

“Yes.” 

“You could do so now, I am sure.” 

“Yes, I could obtain such an engagement.” 

“May I ask, then, why you remain with such a small 
company ?” 

“From choice.” 

“Yes. And I am not to question further?” 

“It would hardly be best for me to say more at 
present.” 


A New Star. 


71 


“My reason for asking was not that of mere curiosity. 
I wished to know if it were impossible to induce you to 
ride in my ring, after your engagement with Mr. Tandy 
is terminated.” 

She looked at him sharply. 

“What do you want of another lady rider ?” she asked. 

“To please the people — nothing else.” 

“You have two already.” 

“When you are at liberty, I want three.” 

“At what salary?” 

“I will mention no figure until you are at liberty.” 

“I am at liberty now.” 

“How is that?” 

“I joined Tandy’s show with the understanding that 
I should remain with him only until a more satisfactory 
engagement could be made.” 

“You are sure that he understands it so?” 

“He is here; ask him.” 

“I will take your word for it, although before engaging 
you it would be proper to speak to him, for he has treated 
me in a gentlemanly manner to-day, and I wish to take 
no advantage.” 

“He said to me that you would probably wish to en- 
gage me,” she said, with drooping eyes. 

“Did he ! that is odd.” 

“Not many wouldi think, to look at me, that I could 
secure an engagement more readily than any other rider 
in the ring. And yet such is the case. I have letters 
offering me chances. But I could not engage with any 
excepting ” 


72 


A New Star. 


‘*My circus?’^ Phil asked, eagerly, as she hesitated. 

“There are one or two others. It depends upon what 
route they may be following.” 

“Mine is all right?” 

“I think so. You are not at present going back into 
the New England States?” 

“No.” 

“Then there would be no objection on that score.” 

“Then I will talk with you later. We will wait until 
we see how the public receives you to-night on your last 
appearance.” 

“Very well. I think I should enjoy being with the 
Rushington Circus,” said Eona, with that flickering 
smile which all who spoke with her learned to watch for, 
because it was so rare and beautiful. 

“Our turn,” said a voice. 

It was Isabel, and Phil started with an embarrassment 
which she was quick to see. 

“So it is. Well, ride out and I will follow.” 

He sprang to his horse, and soon he was racing around 
the ring with his star rider, who brought to the audience 
many surprises which caused them to applaud without 
stint. And yet any observer could have seen that Eona, 
the mysterious, pale-faced girl who had first appeared 
had found a place in the fancy of the public which 
greater beauty or dash or daring could not make them 
forget. 

Phil was disappointed. 

He would have preferred that Isabel remain the fa- 
vorite. There were many reasons for this. He was not 


A New Star. 


73 


really quite ready to add to his list of female riders. At 
the same time he knew that to engage another, who was 
bound to become a favorite, would create trouble in 
camp. Isabel was of a jealous disposition, and she was 
free to express her displeasure whenever she thought he 
was inclined to encourage a new favorite in the ring. 

After the performance, in which Isabel was assisted 
by Phil, Mamie came out and went through with her 
wild and dashing evolutions, with the accompaniment of 
fun which always “caught the crowd.” Then followed 
a new act which was announced on the bills, but which 
they had not before given in public. They had been re- 
hearsing for it for some time. 

Over the sawdust were strung a network of ropes 
formed according to the lines of the outdoor game of 
“fox and geese,” which most young people have played, 
especially where there is snow in winter time for the 
making of paths. 

The horses were returned to their tents, and Rushing- 
ton, Isabel, Walt Arkwright and Mamie came out in suit- 
able costumes, and all sprang upon the ropes, which were 
tight. 

Nearly all circus performers begin their training with 
tight-rope walking. It is something that calls for prac- 
tice and a cool head, and that is all. Almost any active 
person can learn plain walking on the rope, which is 
merely a matter of keeping one’s balance. 

The “act” that followed was more a matter of novelty 
than of great daring, although the ropes were strung at 
a good height above the sawdust, and the movements of 


74 


A New Star. 


the actors as they chased one another back and forth 
along the ropes were somewhat dizzy to observe. 

They had practiced the game together until they had 
perfect confidence and ability. They ran, and the girls 
laughed gleefully, and as they were all so young and 
pleasing in appearance, it made a pretty act, and one that 
pleased better than anything else excepting the riding. 

This ended, all received the loudest applause. The 
big tent was filled with people who were growing more 
and more enthusiastic every moment. 

Eona, however, came out last for the second time, 
and it seemed as if they would bring the tent down with 
their cheering. 

Isabel tapped Phil on the arm and whispered : 

“A new star — good-by to the old !” 


CHAPTER X. 


WHAT MAMIE SAID. 

The combination was a success in the afternoon, and 
such a good story of it went out that there was a yet 
larger attendance in the evening. Phil already figured 
on paying Tandy a liberal sum for the share of his 
artists, of whom Eona was, of course, the first. 

There could be no doubt that she was a strong draw- 
ing card in the evening, although the attendance would 
have been equally large without her in the afternoon. 

In the evening audience was Denton, the youth who, 
through his maliciousness, was responsible for the com- 
bination of the two shows, although indirectly so. He 
sat in an obscure corner, and hoped to escape the sight 
of Phil altogether. But in that he was unsuccessful. 

Rushington saw him, and in the expression of the 
fellow’s face he observed the sullen hate which had dwelt 
and been nourished in his heart so long. 

The youth did not remain in the tent until the close of 
the evening performance. When he went out. Rush did 
not notice. He had no thought of seeing or hearing 
from him in any other way during his stay in the town. 

The evening performance went off with its usual suc- 
cess. Once more the final act came, the last plaudits 
rang through the tent, the last bow was made, the last 
joke and folly worked off by the clowns, and the last 
noisy tune played by the band. 


76 


WHat Mamie Said. 


To Rushington and his actors it all seemed so stale; to 
the surging crowd who rushed from the tent it was all 
so wonderful and so grand. To some of the people in 
the ring it was all a wearisome business, and as prosy 
as the commonest toil; to the crowds who packed the 
tiers of seats the glitter and tinsel, the bows and smiles 
and kissing of fingers were full of romance and life of 
the kind that it seemed worth while to live. 

There were plenty in the audience — and they were not 
all boys, either — who would have been glad to exchange 
places with the poorest-paid actors in the arena, and 
even the life of the canvas and property men had in it 
something of the poetry of the show. 

The big crowd flocked out of the tent, and Rushington 
and Tandy were arranging the matter of a division of 
the profits while the canvas that covered the multitude 
rolled from above their heads like a scroll, and the seats 
and all the properties were hustled from their places onto 
the wagons, and the rumble of their departure was heard 
along the road. 

'Tt was a success, the combination, and so far as 
profits were concerned, if they could be kept lip at the 
same figure, I wouldn’t mind making the combination a 
permanent thing,” said Mr. Tandy. 

“If I could afiford to go into anything so heavy,” said 
Phil, “I might suggest taking a partner and combining 
the shows. But you can see how it would be a departure 
that would be likely to turn my present success into a 
certain failure.” 

“How is that?” 


What Mamie Said. 


77 


“The heavier expenses of the bigger circus would de- 
mand a route which would shut out the smaller towns. 
That would bring us into direct competition with the 
greatest shows in the country. And do you know what 
it means to compete with them?” 

“Big capital or big debts.” 

“Both, usually. I can’t do it — not now. I’m not sure 
that I shall wish to follow the show business all my life 
in any case. I’ve begun pretty young.” 

“Should say you had. Well, about my star rider, then. 
You think you will have to have her?” 

“She is needed, and in a modest way I must strive to 
satisfy the demands of the people. But I expect it will 
bring trouble into my camp. Then, so far, I have known 
something about the character and history of all of my 
performers. I shrink from taking on strangers. Do 
you know anything about this girl?” 

“Next to nothing. She is one of the most successful 
artists in her line in the country.” 

“She impresses one as having a plain face and of lack- 
ing the dash and life required.” 

“There is the very charm of her. She is a surprise, 
and the people like surprises. Besides, will you solemnly 
declare that she isn’t a beautiful girl ?” 

“In a way, she is plain looking.” 

“Can you keep your eyes off her, in the ring or out 
of it — say? And isn’t it just the same with all the people? 
Why, when she comes into the tent or goes out, every 
move she makes, the people stare fit to die. She is a 
curiosity, and without being able to explain why she is 


78 


What Mamie Said. 


so, I must say that she is more fascinating, twice over, 
than your charming Isabel. And won’t your star be 
jealous, eh?” 

Our hero did not answer. He did not feel like acting 
hastily in the matter. Yet at that very moment he heard 
some shouts from the departing crowd, and in them he 
caught the name of Eona, repeated several times. And 
there was no disrespect in it. The charm seemed to be 
a wholesome one, so far as the public was concerned. 

“You cannot drop her here, Mr. Tandy?” Phil in- 
quired. 

The other was silent for a moment, and Phil could see 
that the man felt the need of saying something which 
was unpleasant to utter. 

“Don’t let anything embarrass you,” said Phil, reach- 
ing out in a friendly way for the showman’s hand. 

“I can’t pay her a dollar of her salary if she stays 
with me, and she knows it. She is just with me on ex- 
penses, and I have no business to keep her an hour after 
she has an offer of anything better. You see, Rush- 
ington, I got thrown down pretty flat last winter, and I 
can’t swing the cost of a show anyway, but I’m just 
scratching along in the hope that something may turn 
up. I haven’t a salaried performer to my name.” 

“I didn’t understand. Well, don’t feel bad about it. 
I wish I could take you as a partner, really, for if I was 
to have one I never saw a man that I thought I could 
work with more pleasantly.” 

“I didn’t expect it, Rushington, but I will confess that 
I should not have refused such a proposition if it had 


What Mamie Said. 


79 


come, and you wouldn’t be obliged to put out any cash 
for my properties, either. And you wouldn’t have had 
to increase the salary list any more than you had thought 
best. But I won’t talk about it. You don’t want to do 
it, and I don’t blame you. When a man is doing a safe 
business he had better take care of what he goes into.” 

“I will have to have Eona, Mr. Tandy.” 

“Have you spoken to her about it?” 

“Yes. But the matter of salary was not decided on.” 

“You can fix that to suit yourself, if she likes your 
show, for salary is not so much of an object with her 
as it is to be where she can be happy and comfortable.” 

“Some mystery about her, then?” 

“Yes. And that makes her the more interesting. Let 
just a hint of it go on to the bills and you have the 
people following you wherever you go.” 

“Then I will see if she will accompany us from here 
to the next town.” 

“She will be glad to do it.” 

Rushington first sought Isabel and Mamie. He found 
the latter making ready for her departure to the station. 
She looked sleepy and cross. 

“Where is the ghost. Rushy?” she asked, with her back 
toward him. 

“What do you mean, Mamie?” 

“The ghost — the specter rider that ye put into the ring 
as a sensation? Are ye going to kape her wid the show 
till she is ready to go back to the shades of her fathers ?” 

“Don’t make fun of the girl, Mamie, for she has a 


8o What Mamie Said. 

charm of her own, and it is nothing to malce you jealous, 
either.’’ 

“Jealous, is it! I belave not. Not of the likes of her. 
Oh, she can ride. She could go through the air without 
a horse or anny other old thing beneath her. Hire her 
by all manes, for she won’t ate annything, and she doesn’t 
nade to sleep. She will be chape for ye.” 

Phil could bear the chaffing of Mamie, even when she 
was out of humor, for she was always bright in wit, and 
her comments were of the sort that one must laugh at. 

“Where is Isabel?” Phil asked. 

“I haven’t seen her but once since the show.” 

“Where was she then?” 

“On her horse. I belave she meant to ride the baste 
to the station ahead of the crowd, just for the air.” 

“She ought not to do that. I don’t like to have you 
or her go off like that alone in the night without an es- 
cort. It is unsafe.” 

“Catch her, thin, and tell her so. But ye will foind 
it hard to kape a string on her. That wraith that ye’ve 
hired to take the places of Isabel and me ” 

“Oh, Mamie, you will really make me tired if you talk 
in that fashion. I thought you had more sense, but I 
believe you really mean a part of what you are saying.” 

“I mane the whole of it.” 

Phil looked sharply in the face of the Irish girl, but 
she turned her back on him, and he had a hard chase 
of it to get a glimpse into her blue eyes. When he did 
so at last he saw that there were tears in them. 


What Mamie Said. 


8i 


He caught her hand and held it kindly, and she began 
to sob like a child. 

“You are tired, Mamie, and you don’t know what you 
have said,” he exclaimed. 

“That’s right, and ye mustn’t moind.” 

“Eona, nor anybody, will ever take the place of my 
little friend of years ago. You trained for the stage and 
for the ring for me, Mamie, and remember that no one 
holds a place above you in my circus. Better than that, 
you are my true friend, and I feel sure of it every time, 
and all the time.” 

“That’s roight. Rushy.” 

“I will have to add to the attractions of my show, but 
you will stay.” 

“That’s roight. And don’t moind. It is tired that Oi 
am!” 


CHAPTER XL 


THE SEARCH FOR ISABEL. 

The great show was at the station, and the loading was 
done, and it was time for the train to start. But some- 
thing was missing, and something important at that. 

Isabel, the star rider of the Mossman & Rushington 
Circus and Hippodrome, was not at the station, and no 
one had seen her since she rode away from the tent, hav- 
ing told Mamie that she would go in that fashion to the 
station. 

There were two horses which were not loaded for the 
journey to the next town where they were to exhibit. 
One of these was mounted by Phil Rushington, the other 
by Walt Arkwright. 

‘Tf she is doing this to annoy me, she will get a call- 
down for it that she will remember,” said Phil, as they 
rode back to the town through the darkness of the small 
hours. 

‘‘She wouldn’t do it for that,” said Walt, who never 
thought ill of anybody. 

'‘But it is unreasonable to suppose that she couldn’t 
ride to the station without being held up on the road, or 
kidnaped.” 

"She wouldn’t do it as a trick. I’m sure. She likes 
you too well.” 

"She may be angry because of the favor shown to the 
new rider. She has a jealous disposition.” 


Tlie Searcli for Isabel. 


83 


‘‘She wouldn’t show it in that way, Phil. No, some- 
thing is wrong, I feel sure of it, and whatever you do, I 
shall stay and keep the search going until she is found.” 

“The train will have to go with the rest of the show 
in just an hour, for the track won’t be clear for us so 
that we can get through later. That won’t matter se- 
riously if one of us can get there on a regular train be- 
fore noon. But there is no time to waste, and I am con- 
cerned about the girl. She had no business to go off 
in this way without permission.” 

“I suppose she thought she had some liberty.” 

“No member of my company can go and come in that 
way. I would not allow it. There must be some dis- 
cipline, as well as kindness.” 

Nothing had been seen of Isabel in the town, nor was 
there any one who had seen her on the road, after leav- 
ing the grounds. She seemed to have dropped out of 
sight after riding forth from the horse tent. 

Of course, there were not many people on the road 
at that hour, but there were some stragglers on their 
way home from the shows, for there were as good as 
three in the town in that night, counting the Rushington 
and Tandy combinations as two. 

A ride alone the whole length of the road from the 
station to the main part of the town, with such inquiries 
as could be made on the way, were without result. Back 
at the station no tidings had been heard, and it was de- 
cided that the train would have to go. 

Rushington had been impatient at first, but now he 
was alarmed. 


84 


The Search for Isabel. 


“There is a black look to this business, Walt, and I 
don’t like it!” he exclaimed, as they paused for a con- 
sultation just as the train was departing. 

“She must be found. I told you in the first place that 
it was no joke,” said Walt. 

Back along the road they raced. 

It was dark, for there were clouds and no moon be- 
hind them. As they passed the pasture lot where the 
“tramp circus” had their exhibition they could see that 
the tent was still there, and there were lights glimmering 
on the hillside. That was not all. From within the tent 
came sounds of singing and laughter. 

“They are a hard lot, evidently,” said Phil, pulling up 
his horse to listen. 

“No doubt about that.” 

“Look here, Walt. We have looked -everywhere else. 

, You don’t suppose ” 

“We’ll go up and see,” said Walt, grimly, without 
waiting for his chum to finish the sentence. 

“Only one of us, Walt. You wait here and take care 
of the horses. I will soon know if she is there. But 
they would not dare to detain her — they would not dare !” 

“Hurry up, Phil.” 

Phil dismounted and jumped over the pasture fence. 
He ran up the slope, stumbling over stones and hum- 
mocks, once falling headlong. 

As he neared the tent he nearly collided with some one 
who was coming down. The other did not apologize, 
but by the glow from a cigar which he was smoking 
Phil saw the fellow’s face. 


The Search for Isabel. 


8S 


“Louis Denton T’ he exclaimed. 

“That’s all right,” said Denton. He would have passed 
on, but Phil laid a detaining hand on his arm. 

“You just came out from the tent up there?” he asked. 

“Yes. What of it?” 

“The performance is over, of course?” 

“Two hours ago.” 

“Do you — do you know anything about Miss Currier — 
my star rider known as Isabel?” 

Denton laughed. 

“Do I?” he retorted. “Well, I should smile!” 

Our hero caught the fellow by the collar and held him 
as in a vise. Denton struck out, but his wrist was 
caught and held, and he was as helpless as a baby in the 
grasp of the Springvale athlete. 

“Now will you turn a civil question into a joke, you 
scoundrel? Speak, or I will not leave a whole bone in . 
your body!” 

The wrath of Phil Rushington was all the more ear- 
nest for being so rarely aroused. And it always showed 
up in a just cause. 

“She — she is there!” gasped Denton, his face white as 
a sheet. 

“She is where?” 

“In the tent.” 

“With what crowd?” 

“Ask me no more questions. There is somebody there 
that she knows, and I suppose she has a right to go 
where she pleases. I know nothing about it. She is 
safe enough, I guess, and not worrying about you.” 


86 


The Search for Isabel. 


Rushington flung Denton from him with sO' much 
force that the youth nearly fell headlong. A fierce ex- 
clamation came from Denton’s lips as he plunged down 
the hillside, and not for some time was Phil Rushington 
to see him again. 

At the top of the slope Phil paused, out of breath. A 
cool breeze fanned his hot cheeks. Overhead, the clouds 
were racing, with stars blinking through them — stars 
which never failed to be in their places, and about which 
no one ever has to feel concern — stars which were never 
jealous, and which, unlike the human kind, do not suffer. 

Some one flitted forth from the tent, and Rushington 
sprang forward and caught a slender arm. There was 
no outcry, yet he looked into the face of Isabel ! 

'‘Come — come back with me!’’ he huskily commanded. 

“I was coming,” she said. “My horse is yonder, 
hitched to a tree.” 

They walked out to where the horse was standing, her 
arm in his, her hand clinging. He knew that she was 
trembling, and he suspected that she was crying. 

“Walt is down there waiting for us. Our train is 
gone,” said Rushington. 

“I didn’t know it was so late. And you and Walt 
were looking for me?” 

“Of course we should not have gone without you.” 

“I was cruel — wrong in every way ! You will not for- 
give me, I am afraid, and it will kill me if you do not !” 

“Why were you here, Isabel?” 

The horse was ready for her to mount. But then she 


The Search for Isabel. 87 

suddenly flung her arms around his neck, and rested her 
face on his shoulder. 

'‘Say you forgive me, or I will not go back with you !” 
she cried. 

“How can I say that when I don’t know that there is 
anything to forgive?” 

“I was thoughtless of your trouble and worry and 
loss, and I wish to be forgiven that.” 

“That is forgiven.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes. But you can say more than this to me, can you 
not?” 

“In time, but not to-night. I have asked you to trust 
me before, and now I ask you to do so again. Will you ?” 

Phil Rushington hesitated. 

Her lips touched his cheek. He could feel them move 
as she whispered, pleadingly: 

“Believe me, I am not unworthy of your kindness. 
Trust me! trust me!” 

“I thought you had given me your full confidence 
once.” 

“About my parentage. But there is more, and you 
shall know it. Trust me, please — please!” 

“How long before you will tell me?” 

“Trust me this time without any promise. Please — 
please !” 

“Yes, Isabel.” 

“Without any promise?” 


88 


The Search for Isabel. 


'‘This time. But don’t try my confidence too hard.” 

“I do not think I will have to again. You are so good 
— better than anybody else in the world !” 

Down the slope they walked together, Rush leading her 
horse. 

“What will you tell Walt?” she asked, when they were 
nearly to the road. 

“Nothing that I don’t know.” 

“He will be curious.” 

“No more than I.” 

“He may not be ready to feel confidence for the future.” 

“He will be as ready as I. It will trouble him less.” 

“Well, I cannot tell you now. We are just the best — 
the very best — of friends, aren’t we, Philip?” 

“The best of friends, Isabel.” ' 

Walt asked no questions. As they rode back to the 
station together, few words were spoken, and when Walt 
and our hero chanced to be alone the latter only said : 

“We will have to trust Isabel, Walt, without suspect- 
ing her of any evil. I believe that she is a good girl and 
true to my interests and to our friendship.” 

“Of course she is, Rush. You mustn’t think she isn’t. 
I thought likely that she had told you, anyway.” 

“I know no more than you.” 

They followed the circus train on a regular express, 
and arrived in the next town where they were to exhibit 
in ample season. 

On the way Rushington told Isabel of the engagement 
of Eona, and she only laughed and said: 


The Search for Isabel. 89 

“Don’t you care, Phil Rushington! Mamie and I can 
ride all around her, and you know it!” 

“But the crowd admires her style — why, I do not 
know.” 

“And the manager of this circus admires her style — 
why. Heaven only knows!” laughed Isabel. 


CHAPTER XIL 


MELTON, THE CLOWN. 

In Spite of his business engagements, Phil often found 
himself wondering what the secret of Isabel’s life could 
be. 

One day Walt came to him, in the midst of a perform- 
ance, with an anxious look on his face. 

“What is it?” asked the young circus owner. 

“Observe Melton, the clown, will you, Rush?” 

“What is the matter with him?” 

“Notice when Isabel rides past him, and he, on his 
donkey, pretends to try to race with her, that he leans 
over and seems to whisper something to her. Of course, 
if he says anything, it can’t be in a whisper with the band 
making more noise than a trainload of calves. If you 
could only ride past them suddenly you might ‘catch on.’ ” 

It was at the afternoon performance of the show, in a 
small city a little north of Baltimore. The morning had 
been hot; the midday was hotter; the afternoon was of 
the kind to make the people swelter. There was the 
odor of steamy tanbark and perspiring humanity, min- 
gling with countless other odors which go to make up the 
“smell” of a circus on a hot day. 

It was Phil’s habit to ride a few turns around the ring 
with Isabel, as we know, but on this afternoon he had 
decided to let the public do without him. His own fine 
horse was not in the best shape to ride that day, on ac- 


Melton, the Clown. 91 

count of having become a little overheated on the pre- 
vious day. 

With Walt, Rushington was near the main exit for 
the ring riders. There were two trapeze performers just 
going off, and Isabel had just come on. She was mak- 
ing her preliminary circuits of the ring, going with 
greater speed at each turn. 

As Rush and Walt observed her circling around the 
track in ever-increasing swiftness, she seemed to have 
become a part of the animal she rode. As she sprang 
to her feet, and began to go through the evolutions which 
made up the details of her act, Phil wondered if she were 
not doing better than she had ever done before. 

He forgot the matter of which Walt had just spoken. 
He cared not for the moment what the subjects of the 
clown’s confidences might have been. That the lovely 
Isabel could be involved in anything that was not per- 
fectly right did not then seem among the possibilities. 

So Phil did not act upon the suggestion of his chum. 
He saw the clown return to his “business” of making a 
comical mimicry of the riding of the star, and they ap- 
peared to pay no further attention to each other. 

“It was nothing but some of Melton’s foolery, Walt,” 
said Phil. 

“I thought so at first. But you know that I have been 
acting somewhat in the capacity of detective almost ever 
since you first started out, and I have got to be rather 
cranky about observing things. You have good reason 
to know that I would not be likely to imagine anything 
against Isabel, Rush” — and the voice of Walt had a dif- 


92 


Melton, the Clown. 


ferent tone in it — “I like her too well to suspect her of 
anything very wrong. But there are a lot of things that 
I don’t understand.” 

“About her, do you mean?” 

“About her.” 

“What are they?” 

“You remember the affair of her visiting the tent of 
that vagabond circus?” 

Phil was watching the ring, and he was careful not to 
let his chum see the look on his face. 

“I remember,” he answered. 

“Perhaps she has explained the affair to you, and you 
mustn’t think that I am prying into any secrets because 
I speak of it.” 

“It has not been explained, Walt, and if it had I would 
tell you of it, unless she wished me to positively agree 
not to do so.” 

“Well, that is one of the things. Then you know that 
she has been followed by several rather questionable 
characters — Joseph Saunders, for instance — and the ras- 
cal who is represented to be her father.” 

“That has been partly explained.” 

“Yes. But I have observed before that she seemed to 
be quite friendly with Melton, and Melton I don’t like.” 

Our hero made no reply, but Walt knew that he dis- 
liked Melton, also. 

“I have also spoken at the time, I believe, that your 
lion escaped from the cage in the city of Columbus, of 
the fact that you seemed to be followed by a secret enemy, 


Melton, the Clown. 93 

or that you had one as a member of your company. You 
remember that?” 

“I have tried hard to forget it, Walt.” 

"‘Jiist the matter of our hitting that town at the same 
time with two other shows is another straw. While 
Denton, as clerk for the association owning the grounds, 
was responsible for the letting of the grounds to two 
different shows for the same day, that doesn’t explain 
the whole of it, to my mind. I am not poking around to 
find bugaboos, Phil, and you know I’m no hand to 
croak ” 

“Except when a girl goes back on you ” 

“Let up, Phil ! I haven’t given way to that foolish- 
ness for a good while.” 

“Haven’t had a chance to get stuck on a new girl, 
that’s why. But don’t let me interrupt, for really I am 
taking what you say seriously.” 

“I think I have mentioned enough signs to convince 
you that there is a persistent enemy following you in 
every one of your enterprises. My idea is that the enemy 
is not himself connected with your show, but that he is 
in communication with some member of your company.” 

“Have you any definite information relating to this 
matter ?” 

“Nothing of any consequence.” 

“You have something?” 

Walt was silent, and his head was down in a way that 
Phil knew betokened a kind of embarrassment, which, in 
any one else, he would have thought was a feeling of 


94 


Melton, the Clown. 


guilt. Walt was not just like anybody else, however — 
not like anybody in the world, as Phil would have sworn. 

‘‘Come, old man, get your head back to the level where 
you keep it when you feel moved to talk,” laughed Phil. 

“I don’t like to say,” said Walt, drawing back. 

“It has got to come out if it is something crooked, and 
you know I can’t afford to be humbugged. You must 
stand by me whether you like to say it or not.” 

“It is about a letter, and we have nothing really to do 
with letters that belong to other people.” 

“That’s right. But if you have any certain informa- 
tion of importance that came into your possession by any 
kind of chance the thing for you to do is to let me 
have it.” 

Walt slowly took a letter from his pocket, saying as 
he did so: 

“I don’t know a word that is inside of this. I picked 
it up a little while ago right in front of one of the dress- 
ing-rooms. Isabel must have dropped it, and, as the 
postmark shows, it came to her in the last town that 
we visited before this.” 

He put the letter in the hands of the young circus 
owner. It was a square envelope of a large size, and 
in the upper left-hand corner it bore the name and man- 
ager’s address of the new circus which was represented 
by Joseph Saunders. The letter was addressed to Isabel 
Currier, the star rider, who was at that moment kissing 
her dainty fingers to the applauding crowd. 

The letter had been opened, and there was nothing to 
hinder Phil from learning the contents. There was the 


Melton, tlie Clown. 


95 


best of reasons for his having an interest in the contents ; 
yet he never seriously thought of availing himself of the 
chance. He merely glanced at the superscription, noted 
where it came from, and then handed it back. 

“Give it to Isabel at the first opportunity,” he said. 

“All right. But it is a straw just the same.” 

Just then Isabel rode out of the ring. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


ONE SHADOW LIFTED. 

“It is a straw just the same!” 

The words rang in the ears of Phil Rushington like a 
disagreeable prophecy. He had given the letter back to 
Walt, as has been stated, telling him to restore it to the 
one who had lost it. Now, as Isabel went out of the 
ring, he laid a hand on the arm of his chum, saying: 

“If you have no objection, Walt, I will give her the 
letter. At the same time I will be frank with her.” 

“All right, I wish you would give it to her, for I 
don’t like to watch anybody that I count as a friend. I 
can’t do it very well when it comes to that.” 

“I like to be frank with friends, anyhow. Maybe I 
am foolish about it, but I hold that the moment one has 
an uncomfortable suspicion against a person one has con- 
fidence in, or with whom one has been most friendly, he 
should go and have the matter cleared up, if possible. 
We’ve no business to lose our friends as we do some- 
times. If we lose them it should be only after we have 
spared no pains to keep them true. What though we do 
find that they haven’t been square with us? If we find 
it out we may by our kindness make them sorry for it, 
without humiliating them, either. Don’t you think so, 
Walt?” 

“I think you are all right, Phil, and a lot better than 


One Shadow Lifted. 97 

some of the preachers. If you have an enemy in the 
world it isn’t your fault, that’s sure.” 

“Now you are putting it on rather thick, Walt, and it 
will peel off. I have one of the worst tempers of any 
fellow living, and it is by a mercy that is beyond me 
that I’m not a murderer, as you know. Do you remem- 
ber the fight with Denton at Springvale?” 

“You fought him because you had to, and you struck 
too heavy, that was all. If he had never recovered from 
it not a boy who saw the fight would have blamed you.” 

“When he hit me my head was on fire. I was blind 
for a moment, and could not have told night from day. 
It was when I could not even see his face that I struck 
the blow that sent him to the earth.” 

“We all knew it.” 

“But that tells what a temper I have.” 

“And the way you felt about it afterward shows what 
a white heart you have.” 

“There, you are bound to turn on a man whatever he 
may say, and I can’t make you understand that I’m ugly 
and a dangerous man, generally. I’ll go and see Isabel. 
No; here is Eona, the Girl Centaur. I must watch her, 
just because she is like no one else that ever rode in the 
ring, and not because she is the most perfect rider, or 
that she has beauty to recommend her.” 

“She is beautiful, just the same,” muttered Walt. 

Around and around rode Eona, while Melton, the 
clown, astride his donkey, tried to keep pace with her. 
As he had mimicked the movements of Isabel, so he now 
attempted to “take off” the languid grace of Eona, and 


One Shadow Lifted. 


98 

the effect was comical. And yet for once the antics of 
the clown seemed not to amuse the crowd. Even the 
boys preferred to watch the pale rider who kept them in 
a constant state of breathless expectancy. 

“So Philip Rushington is enjoying his own show, and 
so fascinated that he hardly knows the time of day it is !” 
exclaimed a voice which caused Phil to face about quickly. 

“I was waiting' to see you, Isabel. I have a letter here 
that you must have lost.’^ 

She took the letter with a well-feigned appearance of 
surprise of the indifferent sort. 

“Yes, it is mine. Thank you, Philip.” 

She held the letter carelessly in her hand and did not 
appear delicate about letting him see the outside of it. 

“Did I do as well as usual to-day?” she asked, in 
almost the same breath. 

“Yes. You did better than usual, and I intended to 
say to you, as I did a moment ago to Walt, that I think 
you are growing more beautiful and more skillful as a 
rider every day.” 

Her eyes brightened with pleasure. 

“It makes me happy to have you say that.” 

“It pleases me no less to be able to say it. Now, don’t 
think that I wish to poison the pleasant words with some 
more that are not so agreeable, for that isn’t my way, as 
you ought to know. But I think that we ought to be 
perfectly frank with each other. Don’t you?” 

“You know I think so, Philip.” 

“Do you think that I have ever shown idle curiosity 
about you or your affairs?” 


One Shadow Lifted. 


99 


“No/’ 

“Do you not think that my friendship should give me 
the right to be interested in you in all ways ?” 

“Of course it does. What are you trying to get at, 
Philip? You are as solemn as an owl, and I begin to 
feel scared.” 

“Don’t feel that way. I’m not going to give you a 
‘call-down.’ But I do wish to know what is the nature 
of your correspondence with Joseph Saunders, of the 
Ridgeley Mammoth Menagerie and Circus. Are you 
willing to tell me?” 

Isabel did not seem to be angry when he asked her 
the question about the letter, but that she was at a loss 
what answer to make was evident enough. 

“If I were to tell you the contents of all the letters I 
receive I would be telling what the writers might not 
wish me to disclose. You know the one who writes a 
letter deserves to be thought of,” she said at last, raising 
her eyes and smiling. 

Had Walt Arkwright been her' questioner that smile 
would have finished the business. Not so with Phil. It 
made him admire her beauty the more, but it did not af- 
fect his judgment. 

“The reason I ask in this case, Isabel, is that Joseph 
Saunders is not a friend to me or to my interests, and he 
once did me a deep injury. On another occasion he 
sought to hire you away from me. If you wish to en- 
gage with another circus you can do so without keeping 
your intention a secret from me.” 

“I do not wish to engage with another circus, Philip.” 

f LofC. 


lOO 


One Shadow Lifted. 


‘‘You came near to doing so at the solicitation of this 
correspondent of yours when we were in the city of Co- 
lumbus. It was in that city also that I met with a con- 
siderable misfortune which resulted in loss to me, in the 
escape of my largest lion. The animal was recovered, 
but there was heavy cost to me, and there might have 
been greater yet. The affair has never been explained, 
and it has occurred to me more than once that I had a 
secret enemy working me injury on every opportunity.” 

“Do you think I am such an enemy?” 

“No, no. But you might play into the hands of one 
without knowing it.” 

“I do not think I could be so easily deceived. But if 
you cannot trust me ” 

“Pardon me, but it is you who do not trust me.” 

She bit her lips. 

“I am trying to get so that I won’t trust anybody or 
care for anybody!” she exclaimed. 

“Nonsense! That is the way they talk in some kinds 
of stories and some kinds of plays, Isabel. If I give up 
the circus business for a season by and by and go back 
to the dramatic, I think you would train well for the 
stage.” 

She looked straight into his eyes, and as she saw 
laughter in them her own filled with tears. 

“Now you are making fun of me!” she cried. 

“I meant what I said. If at the end of the circus 
season I were to go into something else I shouldn’t wish 
to give up having you with me.” 

“Wouldn’t you? Would you really care? Awfully 


One Shadow Lifted. 


lOI 


good of you to say that, whether you meant it or not. 
Oh, Philip, you are getting wicked and flirtatious. Here, 
read the old letter, and then, if you want to think me a 
double-dealer. I’ll have to let you.” 

She laughed, and her voice was like music and her 
eyes like stars as they met his for an instant. Then she 
flung the letter at him and darted away into the dressing- 


room. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


ARKWRIGHT AND MELTON. 

Phil felt like calling Isabel back when she ran away 
from him in that way. But he probably could not have 
made her return to him. at that moment if he had called 
ever so long or so loud. So he did not try, and read 
the letter from Joseph Saunders instead. 

Omitting the usual beginning, the letter was as 
follows : 

“You are a shy minx. I’ll say that for you, and it be- 
gins to look as if nothing would induce you to leave the 
young showman you have engaged with. Money and the 
offer of all kinds of distinctions don’t count. You are 
bound to stay with Rushington, that seems clear. You 
are the hardest case I have tried yet. Ha, ha! Well, 
if you should change your mind at any time, you have 
our address, and you know what we have offered to do 
for you. As to your refusal to give us any pointers 
about the Rushington show, for a consideration, of 
course we respect your scruples, though you have a 
deuced uncomfortable way of expressing them. We get 
the mitten from you all around, and that is all there is 
to it, but we aren’t the sort to get in a huff over it, and 
a line from you at any time on any subject or with any 
kind of a proposition would be considered confidential. 

“Meanwhile, little girl, take good care of yourself in 
this wicked old world, and don’t have any hard feelings 
for ‘Queer’ Saunders, for he is bluff and hearty and all 
right. Cordially yours, 

“Joseph Q. Saunders.” 


Arkwright and Melton. 


103 


There was a warm glow around Phil’s heart as he read 
that letter. Looking up, he saw Isabel peeping out at 
him from behind a curtain, and he made a dash for her, 
but she ran, sprang on to her horse, which had not been 
taken away by the groom, and rode out across the open 
plot where the tent was pitched. 

There were some unlucky small boys outside who had 
not the money to buy tickets, and to them was now given 
a free exhibition of fancy riding by Isabel, the star, for 
she saw them, and straightway did her best for their 
pleasure, while Phil stood and observed her from the out- 
side of the horse tent. 

It was all just a playful freak on her part, being a 
show of her delight at having satisfied the doubts of 
Phil and at the same time having pleased him by her 
work. As she rode away across the open plain she 
looked back and laughed and kissed her hand to him in 
her most bewitching way. 

“I have not half done that girl justice, I believe!” 
thought our hero as he returned to the big tent, where 
Eona was in the act of making her last bow to the seats. 

He was in time to see once more that no performer in 
his ring received so much applause as the mysterious 
Eona. Once more he saw the pallor of her face relieved 
by a faint flush which tendered her strangely attractive, 
in spite of the fact that she did not have perfect features. 

‘T have the most fascinating female riders that can 
be found in any circus ring in this country, of that I am 
sure,” said Phil to Walt a little later, as the big crowd 
was going out of the tent. 


104 Arkwright and Melton. 

“There isn’t a doubt of it, Phil.” 

“By the way, I have given Isabel her letter, and it is 
all right. She let me read it, and she would not object 
to my telling you that it is an answer to one from her 
that refused to consider offers of Joseph Q. Saunders 
in the interest of the circus that he represents. It is 
evident that she did not even treat his offers with cour- 
tesy, which shows that she is true to our interests.” 

“I’m glad so much is cleared up. Did you ask her 
what Melton was saying to her?” 

“No. I thought that I had better not appear sus- 
picious after she had been so frank with me.” 

Walt fidgeted with his watch chain, and looked far 
from satisfied. 

“You might have just asked her about him,” he mut- 
tered. 

“Why not ask him?” 

“That is what I did just now.” 

“Ah! And what did he say?” 

“He acted pretty well cut up first, and then he got 
angry and asked me out to fight. When I refused he 
hit me with the back of his hand. See my cheek? It 
hurts yet!” 

“Melton did that! Well, of course you knocked him 
down !” 

“Of course I did,” grinned Walt. “First time I’ve 
done that trick by anybody since I left Springvale. It 
makes me feel queer. Giiess I was mad.” 

“Shouldn’t wonder, Walt. Good for you, anyhow. 
But does that end it?” 


Arkwright and Melton. 105 

‘‘He wants to fight me in the big tent after the crowd 
has gone out. I told him you wouldn’t allow it, prob- 
ably. Pleased to accommodate him only for that.” 

The face of Phil showed conflicting emotions. He 
knew .that it would be establishing a bad precedent to 
allow a fight between different members of his company. 
It was true that he did not know of another man in the 
lot who would have picked a quarrel in that way, and it 
was something that he might always exercise the veto 
power on. 

“How do you feel about it, Walt?” he asked. 

“Sore on the cheek. But I am no fighter. There was 
time when I would rather run than fight, but now I feel 
as if I ought not to turn t’other cheek to the ruffian.” 

“You are developing up good, Walt, and I’m proud of 
you. You know I do not always look for a fight, but I 
despise a young fellow who would run from trouble at 
all times, and never came for seeing or hearing about a 
healthy knockout.” 

“What do you say about this affair, Phil? I would 
rather not do it, but Melton was nasty in the way he hit 
me, and I have an idea that he will do something worse 
if he isn’t given a lesson in some way. You might go 
and ask the same question that I did, I suppose, and he 
would have to take it from you. And you can forbid the 
fight.” 

“The result would be that he would think you asked 
me to shut off the affair because you were afraid to face 
it. If we were not chums it would be different. No, it 


io6 Arkwright and Melton. 

looks as if I would have to let you and Melton try which 
can stand up the longest.” 

“All right,” Walt yawned. “Fll have to ask you to 
tell him, Phil, as a matter of dignity, and I suppose the 
quicker we are about it the better. The girls mustn’t 
know, if it can be kept from them, and the smaller the 
crowd that witnesses the affair the better I will be 
suited.” 

“It shall begin as soon as the tent can be cleared of 
the spectators. I will see that there is fair play.” 

“Can it not be managed so that the property men and 
as many as possible of the others are out of the big tent ? 
If it could be kept a secret until it is over with, then out- 
side talk would be avoided. It mustn’t get around the 
town before the evening performance.” 

“I will do the best I can. How about Melton? You 
used to know how to handle your fists; but there is al- 
ways a chance of running up against something hefty, 
you know.” 

“If it is too hefty, Phil, down goes your chum, that’s 
all.” 

“And I will have to finish him up for you on a future 
date in that case — or would do it if I wasn’t the boss 
showman,” said the young circus owner, compressing his 
lips in a way which Walt had seen more than once in the 
old Springvale days. 

“Remember what John Grayson said the time you 
knocked out Denton?” 

“Yes. It was, ‘Never fight again with a boy.’ And 


Arkwright and Melton. 107 

I never have. Melton is old enough, though — ^twenty- 
five, if he is a day.” 

“All of that.” 

The tent was being fast cleared, and Phil went in to 
see how soon the last of the people could be gotten rid 
of. He spoke to the ringmaster and asked him to clear 
the boys out if any lingered after the departure of the 
elders. Then he sought the foreman of the canvas and 
property men and told him to see that none of his gang 
entered the big tent within a certain space of time. 
Nearly all were asleep at that hour, and all would have to 
eat before the close of the evening performance. 

The riders, acrobats and other performers would have 
their supper within an hour, and that would keep them 
busy. For Melton to slip out and join Walt in the big 
tent unobserved promised to be a feat of no great diffi- 
culty. Rushington saw Melton last. The fellow had 
just washed the red and black streaks from his face, but 
still wore his tights. He was naturally red in face, with 
white eyebrows and lashes, light hair and eyes of the 
palest blue. He was tall and of a good build, and in 
acrobatic feats he was the best man in Rushington ring. 

His proficiency in this respect enabled him to do the 
most difficult tricks of the regular performers as a sur- 
prise after pretended trials and failures. This pleased 
the boys, and in all respects Phil Rushington considered 
the fellow one of his most valuable men. 

Our hero had early discovered one fault with him. 
That was a liking for liquor. He had never known him 
to be intoxicated, or in the least unfitted for his duties in 


io8 


Arkwright and Melton. 


the ring, therefore he had no pretext for finding fault 
with him in that respect. 

“Mr. Melton,’' said Rushington, in his most dignified 
tones, “I understand that you and Mr. Arkwright have 
been having trouble.” 

“If you have his side of the story, of course there is 
no use of my saying anything, for it is probably a settled 
thing between you. If you have my walking ticket filled 
out I will have to take it.” 

The young man seemed to have a bitter feeling about 
the affair, as if he had made up his mind that there would 
be no chance of his obtaining justice at the hands of the 
bosom friend of his opponent. 

“You are mistaken, Melton. Mr. Arkwright says you 
wished to settle the affair with him in stand-up fashion, 
under the ordinary rules. I have consented, but the mat- 
ter must be kept quiet.” 

Melton stared at Rushington incredulously. 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE FIGHT. 

‘‘Do you mean to say that you will allow a fight with 
fists to take place between two memebers of your com- 
pany?” Melton exclaimed. 

“If you are disposed to let the matter drop where it is 
I should be pleased, of course. But I was given to un- 
derstand that you would not be satisfied to let it end 
that way.” 

“I challenged Arkwright fairly enough, but I thought 
that it would have to be managed without your knowl- 
edge or consent if it came off at all.” 

“Mr. Arkwright would not have engaged in anything 
of the kind without my knowledge.” 

“Honest boy!” sneered Melton. 

“He is that.” 

“Oh, well, if you have got to know about it, when did 
you propose to have it take place?” 

“Now — at once.” 

Melton hesitated. It seemed to him that they were in 
almost too great haste to have the affair take place. But 
there seemed to be no good excuse for delay, so he said, 
after a moment’s consideration : 

“I really have no one on whom I can depend to see 
me through this business. There is Barrows, the other 
clown. We are no great friends, but he is the sort to 
see fair play, I think.” 


no The Fight. 

“He would see fair play all right. Will you confer 
with him?” 

“Yes. And I suppose he will have to confer with you 
as Arkwright’s second?” 

“Mr. Grout, the ringmaster, will act for Arkwright. 
I must have no part in it, for reasons that you will un- 
derstand.” 

“Honest boy and scrupulous chum!” muttered Melton. 

“Is this all you will have me do for you, Mr. Melton ?” 

“That is all. Much obliged. Stay — any spectators 
to be admitted ?” 

“Just enough to see fair play, that is all.” 

“There is one person I would especially like to have 
witness the fight. But you will probably object.” 

“Who is it?” 

“Eona I” 

Phil stared. 

“She wouldn’t wish to see it!” he exclaimed. 

“I think nothing would please her more.” 

“Do you know her?” 

“A little.” 

“Why do you think she would care to witness the fight 
betwixt you and Arkwright?” 

“She might not care to have me explain. I’m not go- 
ing to tell everything I know. I’m not obliged to do it — 
see ?” 

“You need not. I will see Eona, and if what she says 
leads me to think that she would like to see the encounter 
I will let her come in. But it is a rather queer request to 


The Fight. Ill 

make for a girl. The whole proceeding is rather queer, 
at best.” 

Rushington found Eona reclining languidly on a 
blanket. Isabel and Mamie were not in that tent, and 
the mysterious pale rider was alone. She looked up 
wearily as Phil came in. 

'‘You didn’t have me go out a second time when the 
people called for me to-day,” she said, in her low tones. 

“You worked hard enough in the first place, and gave 
more than the schedule calls for. You don’t seem to me 
to enjoy the best of health.” 

“I am well.” 

“Doesn’t the riding, with all the feats performed, 
weary you?” 

“A little. But I am soon rested again. I could do 
twice as much. I am never more comfortable than I am 
when on the back of a good horse.” 

“ ‘Girl Centaur’ fits your quality pretty good, I think.” 

“I am always at ease on the back of a horse. I would 
die if I had to give up riding.” 

“You are a beautiful rider, Eona. By the way, I have 
a queer question to ask you.” 

“What is it?” 

“Do you know anything about athletics, as practiced 
by boys in gymnasiums, and in some institutions by girls 
as well?” 

“I have had a good gymnasimu training,” said the pale 
girl, with her rare smile. 

“Running, ladder-climbing, hand-over-hand — all those 
things ?” 


112 


The Fight. 


“All of those things.” 

“Fencing with foils, boxing with gloves?” 

“Yes. And I enjoyed them all.” 

The girl got up, and her cheeks glowed. 

“In the gym. where I trained there were lively times,” 
she exclaimed. 

“Of what kind?” 

“There were two sets of girls, and they were jealous 
of each other’s proficiency with the foils and the gloves. 
There were two of them who grew to hate each other, 
and it ended in a challenge and a fierce fight with gloves. 
It was dreadful, but only a few knew about it. I — I 
acted as referee!” 

Phil Rushington stared. Here, indeed, was a glimpse 
into the past of this mysterious girl whose riding so fas- 
cinated all beholders. And Melton must have known 
something of the incident of which she had just spoken. 

“You are a different sort of girl from what I thought 
you were.” 

“And you are disgusted?” 

“No. I am merely surprised. You know the rules, 
then?” 

“I was assistant teacher of the art of self-defense in 
the same school for one term after I got through as a 
pupil.” 

In a few words, Rushington told her of the impending 
encounter between Melton and Walt Arkwright. 

“Too bad! Better advise Mr. Arkwright to settle the 
matter in some other way. Melton will kill him!” 

“What do you mean?” 


The Fight. 113 

^‘Melton's father was instructor in the gymnasium, 
and the father trained the son in every way to develop 
his strength and skill from childhood. I have heard it 
said that few men could stand up before Carl Melton.” 

Eona evinced more excitement than Phil had ever seen 
her display before. For a moment he, too, regretted that 
Walt had become involved with the fellow. But he then 
remembered that his chum had a splendid training, that 
he was cool, that, with all of his seeming delicacy, his 
strength and endurance were of the highest quality. 

At the same time he thought of another phase of the 
question. If Arkwright was vanquished in the encounter 
then he himself would give Melton the deserved lesson. 

There was a strange tingle in the young showman’s 
fingers at the thought. Somehow, Melton was singu- 
larly odious to Phil in every way, and he had become 
more so day by day, although Rushington could not have 
explained why. 

‘T think Walt will be able to take care of himself, and 
perhaps it will be Melton who will get tired first.” 

‘Tf you know Mr. Arkwright’s quality then you know 
how much risk he is running. From what I have seen 
of your friend, I judge that he would act with perfect 
fairness in any case.” 

“Fair play is all Walt asks for.” 

Eona was silent a moment, and it was evident that 
there was something more that she wished to say, but 
was doubtful as to the propriety of speaking all that was 
on her mind. 

“How about fair play on the part of Melton?” Phil 


1 14 The Fight. 

asked, divining an inkling of what was in the mind of 
the girl. 

“He will be fair if he can win by that means.’’ 

“And if he cannot?” 

“I like you and your friend, and I am under no obliga- 
tions to Carl Melton, so I will keep nothing back. If he 
finds himself getting the worst of the encounter, look out 
for fouls!” 

“Thank you, Eona. And that brings me to a some- 
what singular request made by Melton. It was that you 
have an opportunity to witness the encounter. He 
thought you would like to do it, but I was doubtful about 
it. All I will say is, that you are at liberty, if you are 
so inclined.” 

The girl compressed her lips with an expression which 
Phil had not seen on her lips before. She met his gaze 
frankly as she said : 

“You would think less of me if I were to say that I 
would like to see the encounter?” 

“No.” 

“Then I will witness it. It is to be when ?” 

“Within an hour, on the tanbark in the big tent.” 

“I will be there, but I don’t care to be seen.” 

“Very well.” 

Rushington had to inform Barrows that Melton had 
chosen him to act as his second in the fight, and to tell 
Walt of the details and the moment when he would be 
expected to appear. Grout had already been informed 
of the part he was expected to play. 

The preparations went on hurriedly, for it was im- 


The Fight. 115 

portant that it be finished in good season, and that not a 
whisper of it should leak out before the evening per- 
formance, as it might have a demoralizing effect on the 
other performers in the ring. 

Both Barrows and Melton were clowns, and they had 
not been on the best of terms. It was not with the best 
grace, therefore, that Barrows accepted the commission 
to act as the second of the other. 

"‘If I had been asked to act for Arkwright there would 
have been some sense in it, for he is a prime fellow,^’ was 
his comment. 

“It was Melton’s request, and I give it to you as I 
got it. Perhaps, since you and Melton are not the best 
of friends, you can arrange with Grout to exchange 
places. I know Arkwright would not care, and I think 
Grout is indifferent.” 

“I’ll speak to Melton about it, and we’ll be ready on 
some basis in fifteen minutes. But you, Rushington, will 
witness the fight?” 

Our hero made no reply. But when the adversaries 
•were conducted to their places on the tanbark, Phil Rush- 
ington was an eager observer. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


THE END OF IT. 

Melton and Arkwright faced each other and shook 
hands ^vith a seeming good grace which created a fa- 
vorable impression, for it at least indicated that neither 
of them was inclined to let ill feeling impair his coolness 
or courtesy. 

Melton wore his tights, as for the regular performance. 
His arms were bare, and they were the arms of an ath- 
lete, as all could see. He was not handsome in face, but 
there was a supple grace in his movements which in- 
dicated what was true — that he had all his life been under 
training, and that he possessed natural good health. 

It was a fact that he had formed a habit of using 
stimulants, but so far as Rushington knew, he had been 
moderate in the vice so far, and his physique was not yet 
impaired appreciably. 

Arkwright was slender in build, with a delicate face 
which would lead the stranger to believe that he was in- 
ferior as an athlete. But his arms, of milk-like white- 
ness, were as large and muscular as Melton’s, and there 
was quiet confidence in his manner which would not 
have been expected in one with his somewhat effeminate 
face. 

There was one fault with Walt— he had all his life 
preferred to spend too many of his leisure hours in the 
society of women and girls. Now it should not be un- 


The End of It. 


117 


derstood that girls are rated as unsuitable companions 
for a youth, for such is not the case. If they are of the 
right character their influence is always refining, and 
they draw out the chivalry and unselfishness of a boy’s 
nature. 

But, nevertheless, it is better for any boy to look upon 
the other sex as a luxury in friendship, not to be sought 
too constantly, however beautiful, true or good. The 
boy is to become a man, and the man must fight the 
battles of the world of every kind, and he must have mus- 
cles and brain hardened for the work. He must guard 
against effeminacy. He should win the admiration of his 
girl friends by his manly force, his strength, his willing- 
ness to meet hardship, to kick obstacles out of the way, 
to win battles in war, if necessary, but preferably, in 
youth, on the diamond, with oar or his own supple limbs 
in a race, or in a football eleven. 

In such conquests as he may make in those fields he 
may at the same time be magnanimous and considerate, 
and for lessons in these and other refined virtues he will 
learn to look to the girl friend who observes his victories 
and defeats with delight in the former and sympathy in 
the latter. 

Walt had not been so much inclined toward the tri- 
umphs in hardy sport as were some. Phil was his op- 
posite in this respect. But Walt had good health, and 
he had taken an excellent course of training, and Melton 
was to find that he had something to do. 

Grout and Barrows had made an exchange in their 
offices, and the latter stood as the second for Walt. Bar- 


The End of It 


ii8 

rows was a slender, eely fellow, with a face which seemed 
to be full ©f sadness, but who, in reality, had never been 
known to take anything seriously in his life. 

“Wait a minute, Arkwright!’' Barrows whispered, as 
they were about to take their places ready for the signal 
to begin. 

“What is it, Barrows?” 

“Let me get a basket,” said Barrows. 

“What do we want of a basket?” 

“To save the pieces in!” 

“Shut up!” cried Walt, although a smile flickered 
across his face. 

The jest helped him, for he actually hated to try to 
blacken the eye of his adversary, and he would almost 
have been willing to apologize if by so doing the fight 
could have been avoided. And this was not because he 
was afraid of being hurt, either. 

The jest made the matter seem less serious to him, 
and the next moment, when the word was given by Rush- 
ington, Walt opened the game by landing a left-hander 
squarely on the cheek of his opponent. 

Melton was sent reeling back against the rope, but he 
did not go down. The clip came with a suddenness that 
took him by surprise, for he had calculated on making 
the first pass himself. He reckoned on Walt standing 
on the defensive. In truth, Melton believed that he had 
a “soft thing” in front of him, and that all he would have 
to do would be to brush it out of the way whenever he 
was ready. 

Melton came back and tried to pay for the hit before 


The End of Tt. 


119 

the end of the first round. But he only succeeded in 
keeping Walt busy until time was called, without land- 
ing a single blow. 

It was not a good showing, and Melton felt that he 
must do better, and that right away, or they would begin 
to laugh at him. Still, he held his temper, and when they 
began again Walt did not succeed in landing anything, 
and he received a back-hand blow on the right ear that 
caused him to hear a jingle of sounds like bells. 

After that both of the combatants warmed up to the 
work and at the end of the second round both began to 
look as if they had been in a fight. Yet neither of them 
had gained the least advantage. But they were enough 
hurt to feel angry at each other, and when they went at 
it again the aifair came down to straight slugging, and 
each was sent to the earth once. 

Melton went down last, and he got up slowly while 
Phil was counting the time. When he once more faced 
his slender antagonist he was less anxious to begin the 
sparring than he had been at the start. The truth was, 
his face was getting so bruised and painful that he 
dreaded having to stand up longer before Walt’s stinging 
blows. 

Walt was sore, too, and it was here that the one who 
looked the tenderest proved himself to be the nerviest. 
He did not shrink from the possible punishment, but 
walked up as if he were anxious to take it and have it 
over with. 

He got hit once, and the pain went to his brain. From 
that moment Melton had no chance to shriek or to dodge. 


120 


The End of It. 


for some hard fists were knocking for admittance on 
chest, head and shoulders, and he could not seem to get 
away from them. Melton breathed hard, and he became 
so blind with pain that he lost discretion and plunged in 
without appearing to care for consequences. 

Rushington could see that Melton, with all his train- 
ing, was in reality only expert in a few tricks which 
helped him to land blows at the beginning of the fight, 
before the other learned his style, and that as soon as his 
opponent found what those tricks were there was no 
trouble in meeting them. 

It was here, too, that the perfect habits of Walt told 
in his favor. Even a moderate use of liquor, except in 
particular cases, is bound to tell on the power of en- 
durance, and Melton had been drinking steadily for many 
years, while Walt was always temperate. 

Melton went down thrice in a single round, and the 
last time he rose it was only to stagger against the rope 
and whine like a whipped spaniel. Grout would have 
tried to brace him up for more of the struggle, but Rush- 
ington stepped to the side of the ringmaster and said : 

“This must go no further. This isn’t a prize ring, and 
I will not have the affair go beyond the brutal point. 
Arkwright has won on points, and he mustn’t strike Mel- 
ton again, for he hits him now every time, and your man 
mustn’t think that he can keep the thing going just be- 
cause he is game.” 

“That’s right — that’s right!” said Grout. 

At the same time Phil saw Eona step into the big tent 


from beyond the flap that separated it from a dressing- 
room. 

“Come, Melton,’’ she exclaimed, going up to the fel- 
low and laying a hand on his shoulder. “There must be 
some game that you can play better than this, and you 
should never again pretend that you know how to take 
care of yourself.” 

He stared at her, and a low exclamation escaped his 
lips. 

“Did you see — it all?” he faltered. 

“I saw it all. You thought to show off before me, but 
I have been laughing at you since the first because you 
didn’t know when you were beaten. You have won no 
glory, and you look as if you had been through an ex- 
plosion of some kind. And good enough for you!” 

With that the strange girl returned to the dressing- 
room, sending one of her queer smiles back at Phil as 
she disappeared. 

Her words, spoken before the one who had vanquished 
him, stung Melton worse than the blows had done. His 
face grew black with rage, and there was an expression 
in his eyes which our hero had never seen except in the 
eyes of one who was capable of being a villain. 

Grout was trying to lead Melton from the tent, and 
Barrows joked and laughed while he attended to Walt. 
But Melton was hoarsely muttering threats, and refusing 
to accept of the kind offices of his second. Phil spoke in 
a low tone to Arkwright, and then went over to Melton. 

“Enough of this, Melton,” he said, firmly. “You are 
excused from duty for to-night, and you had better be 


122 


The End of It. 


taken care of and then sleep. I shall never allow any- 
thing of this kind again between members of my com- 
pany, and I should not have done so this time had I sup- 
posed that it was to be a brutal show, instead of a spar- 
ring for points. I thought you were a gentleman, and I 
knew Arkwright was one. Go soothe your bruises, and 
don’t quarrel again while you are with this show!” 

Rushington’s sternness for a moment quelled the rage 
of the vanquished clown. Without a word, he allowed 
Grout to lead him out of the tent. But as he went he 
looked back, and the young circus owner was almost 
startled by the black malignity of his glance. 

“It is a bad business, and if I had been sensible I would 
never have allowed it to be,” was the thought of the 
young showman. “It is in such matters of judgment 
that a fellow shows the boy that is in him! Well, I’m 
learning, and I’ll profit by the lessons.” 

In the smaller tent a girl sat beside Melton and bathed 
his swollen face with tender touch. As the tent filled for 
the evening performance she remained at his side. 

It was Isabel! 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE PERIL OF ISABEL. 

“Well, old man, how do you feel?” 

It was Phil who asked the question, and of course 
Walt was the object of his solicitude. Arkwright had 
taken a sponge bath, made a change of clothing, and 
looked almost as natty as ever. There were some bruises 
that did not improve the classical outlines of his face; 
but suitable treatment was making them look better, and 
if he suffered any from the thumps received he said 
nothing about it. 

“I feel as if I needed something to do,” was his answer. 

“You don’t look quite well enough to appear in the 
ring in too prominent a role. But in the evening you 
will do if you really feel like it. How about the ‘fox and 
geese’ on tight ropes? Can you do it, or is your head in 
too buzzy a condition ?” 

“I can do that all right.” 

“Very well. It might be a good thing for you to go 
out, just to silence rumors which will probably leak out 
about the affair with Melton. It would show that you 
were not the one who had to drop out of it.” 

“That’s right, and I’m ready for anything that has a 
goose in it, for I feel as if I had been playing in that 
rdle already.” 

■ “Fighting is foolish business, Arkwright, but there are 
things that are more foolish for a young fellow, to my 


124 


Tlie Peril of Isabel. 


mind. It keeps a man from getting soft, and that is 
something. But have you looked into the tent to see 
how she is filling up for the evening show ?” 

“Rather light, I am afraid. It is hot and Hear 

that r 

They could hear without listening intently. It was the 
rumble of thunder, and it was so heavy that the ground 
shook under their feet. Then they noticed that the dark- 
ness which was falling was of a blacker sort than that 
which belonged to the twilight hour, and that the dark- 
ness was frequently lighted by vivid flashes of lightning. 

“A thunderstorm,” said Phil. “And it looks as if it 
might be a lively one. But that is something that we 
will have to run up against at this time of year, and this 
is the time of year for the circus business, anyway. I 
suppose it is bound to give us a light crowd, coming just 
before the opening of the show. Til take a look at the 
sky, to see if it is of the kind to scare the timid.” 

Both went out to the door of the small tent, and as 
they did so there was another flash, more vivid than any 
of the others, followed closely by a crash of thunder. 
They involuntarily drew back, for it seemed as if the 
tent was filled with flame. But the next moment the 
scene was swallowed up in the blackest kind of darkness. 

“It is a bad one, and nobody but the boys who would 
go through a cyclone to get to a circus tent will venture 
out. We have been lucky so far about not having an 
exhibition spoiled by a storm, and I suppose we have no 
right to complain.” 

Walt went into the big tent. That few people were 


The Peril of Isabel. 


present or likely to come was evident, for it was time for 
the seats to be filling up. 

''Not half a crowd, Rushington,” said Grout. 

"The show will have to be given just the same, for the 
few that are here will advertise us for the next town. 
Some stay away when a storm threatens, because they 
think half the show will be dropped. The story must go 
out that we do everything we advertise, even if there is 
only one boy and nobody else on the benches.” 

"That’s what Mossman used to say,” Grout answered. 
"But it isn’t every showman that goes on those lines. 
Some would hand the money back to the handful of 
people who are here and tell them to get in out of the 
wet.” 

"They came in spite of the threatened storm,^ and they 
of all people should not be disappointed. Give the full 
show, only cutting off a little of the time given to some 
of the tricks, so as to give them a chance to go home in 
case there is a lull in the storm.” 

"All right.” 

A minute afterward the band struck up its noisiest, but 
a clap of thunder for the moment crashed so loudly that 
the sounds were drowned. Then out came the trapeze 
performers, the clown with his donkey, and so on through 
the first features of the show. 

Then the male trick rider, with his four horses which 
he rode as an ordinary person rides one, and the tight 
ropes and "fox-and-geese” game, in which Walt, Phil, 
Mamie, the Irish girl performer and rider, and, this time, 
Eona, ran about on the network of ropes far above the 


126 


The Peril of Isabel. 


tanbark in what seemed to be a merry frolic without fear 
of a fall. 

Isabel usually took part in the game. But this time 
she did not appear, and Phil wondered if she were afraid 
on account of the storm. 

Vivid lightning, the gleams of which showed even in 
the tent, the terrific thunder, lent a weirdness to the scene 
which rendered the performance all the more thrilling 
to the few who had braved the weather for the sake of 
seeing it. 

Then it was time for Isabel, the star rider, to appear. 
Instead, Mamie dashed into the ring with her impudent 
little nag, and set the people in a roar with her antics, 
while they applauded her dash and daring. 

“Where is Isabel?” 

Phil asked the question, and made his way to the dress- 
ing-rooms for the answer. But she was not where he ex- 
pected to find her. 

He came last to the curtained alcove where Melton had 
been taken after the fight with Arkwright. He paused 
there as he heard the sound of voices just beyond the 
curtain. 

One speaker was Melton, and he spoke in such a low, 
growling tone that our hero could not make out what he 
said. Then the voice of Isabel was heard. 

She was crying — ^her tones were pleading — ^they were 
almost terrified in their accents. 

“Don’t tell him ! Don’t tell him !” Phil heard her say. 
“I will do anything — anything — rather than have you do 
that!” 


The Peril of Isabel. 


127 


The brain of Rushington reeled. What did it mean? 
Again rose the old question as to the secret of Isabel, his 
star rider, for whom he had done so much, for whom he 
had hoped so much. 

Phil was one to think a great deal of his friends. He 
was inclined to trust them fully, to believe them to be as 
frank and sincere in all things as he was himself. He 
was not of a suspicious nature, and anything of a ques- 
tionable character concerning one in whom he had con- 
fidence brought to him a feeling of the most intense 
depression. 

What was the secret of Isabel? Several times had he 
found evidence that there was a secret, and that with all 
her professed confidence in him she did not have the 
courage to tell him of it. Now it seemed to be clear that 
Melton, the most unworthy man connected with the show, 
knew something of Isabebs secret — that he was more 
fully in her confidence, apparently, than was Phil Rushing- 
ton, who had befriended her when she was most in need. 

Phil could hear the band as it struck into the piece 
which it usually played for the entrance of his star. He 
knew that Mamie was still in the ring, and that Grout 
would see that the place of Isabel was filled by Eona if 
the other failed to appear promptly. There was not a 
great crowd to be disappointed if Isabel did not appear 
at all, and it was not for that that he cared. But the ter- 
rible question as to her reason for failing him was a 
haunting one that he could not get rid of. 

He was tempted to step in where Isabel and Melton 


128 


The Peril of Isabel. 


were talking. But to do so he knew would be a great 
shock to her, and still regarding her in the light of a 
friend, he felt that he had no right to intrude in that 
way. 

"‘No,’’ he thought. “If she will trust me with the mat- 
ter, if I can induce her to do so, well and good; if not, 
I will not play the eavesdropper or try to force the secret 
from her lips. But why does she neglect her duties? 
Does she not know that her turn has come to ride? She 
is shirking her work, and I will have to inquire the rea- 
son of that.” 

He heard Melton walking about, and that proved that 
the clown was not so badly off from his fight with Ark- 
wright as Phil had supposed. Again he heard the growl- 
ing tones of the fellow, and he caught several discon- 
nected words, one of which was the name of Rushing- 
ton. But he could make no sense of them, and he was 
not in a mood to listen for the sake of finding out the 
reason in that way. 

There were no lights in the place where Rushington 
was standing at the moment, but he could see that there 
was a light on the other side of the flap in the compart- 
ment where Melton and Isabel were. But the frequent 
flashes of lightning made him uncertain even of that. 

Suddenly the sound of voices ceased. Phil still lin- 
gered, not for the purpose of listening, but because he 
could not decide at the moment what to do. It was then 
that there came an unusually brilliant flash of lightning, 
and when he could see clearly again, to his consternation 


The Peril of Isabel. 


129 

he saw that the flap of canvas had been drawn aside, and 
that Melton was facing him in the opening. 

“Listening, eh?” exclaimed the clown. 

“No. I came to find Isabel. It is time for her to 
ride,” Phil answered. 

There was a low cry from the girl, and the next mo- 
ment she flew past him and sped away in the direction 
of the horse tent. 

“Melton,” said Phil, as the clown still faced him with a 
disagreeable expression on his swollen face. “I have 
been here for a minute or two, and I lieard a few words 
spoken by Isabel. I did not come here expecting to find 
her, and I am not going to ask any questions. But you 
will find it to your interest, in due course of time, to ex- 
plain some matters. I do not know, of course, whether it 
was her fault or yours that she did not report promptly 
for duty, but such matters will have to be made satisfac- 
tory to me, whoever may be responsible.” 

“I could explain without cost to me,” said Melton, in 
a disagreeable tone. 

“I dare say you could tell any kind of a story, and make 
it appear that you were innocent as a lamb. But when 
I obtain a version of the aifair I shall make an effort to 
see that it shields nobody. Now, if you are as much 
the worse for your fight with Arkwright as you ap- 
peared when they took you out of the ring, I advise you 
to go to sleep and m.ake the m.ost of the time, for I shall 
expect to see you ready for duty again to-morrow.” 

Rushington turned to go, but Melton seized his arm. 

“Stay,” he said. 


130 


The Peril of Isabel. 


‘What is itr’ 

“There is a detective in one of the dressing-rooms wait- 
ing to arrest your star rider. She will be taken at the 
close of this performance!’^ 

Our hero fell back as if he had been struck in the face. 


CHAPTER XVIIL 


THE TENT ON FIRE. 

“I don’t believe it !” 

Such was the response of Phil to the declaration of 
Melton, the clown. 

“You are not obliged to,” sneered Melton. 

“How do you know there is an officer here to arrest 
anybody?” Phil demanded. 

“I knew one was following us, and to-day I saw him.” 

“At what time did you see him?” 

“At the afternoon performance. He was in the audi- 
ence, trying to make out for certain if she was the one 
he wanted.” 

“How did you know that?” 

“Because he accosted me once when I stood close to 
the rope, and nobody else was within hearing.” 

“He asked you which of the riders was Isabel?” 

“Yes.” 

“That explains only a part of your share in it. How 
did you know that he was an officer ?” 

“I tell you I knew there was one following the show af- 
ter somebody. I saw him arrest a man in New York 
more than a year ago and I recognized him.” 

“You told him which one of the riders was Isabel when 
he asked you to-day?” 

“Yes.” 


132 


The Tent on Fire. 


“Was it about that that you whispered to her this af- 
ternoon in the ring?” 

“I asked her if she knew that man who spoke to me. 
She said that she did not, and then she tried to get me to 
tell her what he said to me, and I told her that I would do 
so before the evening performance.” 

“And that was why she came in to see you after the 
fight, and it was about that that you were both talking?” 

“It was about that.” 

“Then she knows now that the officer is waiting for 
her?” 

“She knows.” 

Phil was silent while Melton observed him curiously 
in the dim light. Then, in a changed tone, our hero said : 

“You had better lie down for an hour, Melton, and get 
straightened out ready for the journey. The performance 
is about over, but we shall not take down the tent until 
the storm slackens up, for it won’t last long. You need 
rest. How is your face? pretty painful?” 

“I shall grin and bear it, and you may say to Ark- 
wright that I’m not dead yet, and he will be likely to 
hear from me again.” 

“There will be no more fighting between you while you 
remain in my show. He got the best of you squarely 
enough, and you must let that settle it for good and all. 
What is a little sparring, with an enlarged nose and a 
bruised jav/? You are the better for it, or would be, if 
you didn’t cherish a foolish idea of getting your revenge 
for the punishment.” 


The Tent on Fire. 


133 

“His time will come, and his punishment with it!’' 
said Melton, savagely. 

“Come, Melton, don’t hold on to a thing that way. It 
isn’t worth while. It doesn’t take courage to be quarrel- 
some, or to seek revenge. There is no use of trying to 
get even with everybody. It is not possible. We have 
our work to do, and to make a success of it is all the battle 
the most of us are able to fight successfully.” 

Melton listened to the kind words of Phil with down- 
cast face, and it was evident that he cared nothing for 
them. It was impossible for him to feel that anybody 
could be right except himself, and for any hurt to an- 
other he cared nothing. 

Phil’s mind was full of what the clown had just told 
him concerning Isabel. He longed to learn more of the 
matter, but he did not like to discuss the affair with him. 

“Why does anybody wish to arrest Isabel? What has 
she done? What can I do for her?” 

Such were the queries that flashed through the mind 
of the young showman with bewildering swiftness. It 
brought to his brain a sense of confusion, and he was 
indifferent to the details of his business, even the things 
which it devolved upon him to attend to. 

“Lie down, Melton, and get a nap if you can,” he said 
at last, without half knowing what he was saying. Then 
he turned away, with a vague notion of seeking the officer 
and trying to make a money settlement of the difficulty, 
so that Isabel would not have to be arrested. 

“Where did she go?” he suddenly asked himself. 

He hastened back to the big tent, and as he did so Eona 


134 The Tent on Fire. 

dashed past him on her horse. She drew up as she saw 
him. 

'Isabel didn’t ride,” she said, as though she knew what 
he would have asked. 

"Where is she?” 

“In the dressing-room, I think. She asked me to go 
out on her turn.” 

“I will tell her. But I think she will refuse to see 
you now. You had better wait, or you will drive her 
away.” 

“It is imperative that I see her at once, for something 
must be done. Do you know, Eona, what is the trouble ?” 

“I know that an officer is lying in wait for her, and 
that she will not be allowed to leave this town.” 

“Do you know what the charge is against her?” 

“Melton knows. Ask him.” 

“I asked if you knew.” 

“I do not. If I have any suspicions I am not obliged 
to say what they are.” 

“You are not expected to utter suspicions. All I wish 
to know for is that I may be able to do what is needed 
for her. A public scandal must be avoided if it can be, 
and the girl must be protected. I do not believe she is 
guilty of anything worthy of all the trouble that is being 
made over it. She has enemies — has been indiscreet 
about something — there may be a dozen reasons for the 
annoyance without calling her innocence in question.” 

“Oh, yes,” said Eona. But the odd smile with which 
the words were spoken sent a deeper dread to the heart 
of the young circus owner. 


Tlie Tent on Fire. 


135 


The storm which had threatened with such intensity- 
seemed to be holding back. There was a steady patter 
of rain, a grumble of thunder, a red flare of lightning 
against the black sky, but it seemed more distant, and 
as the last act in the ring was in progress it seemed prob- 
able that the people would have a chance to get home 
without facing anything severe. 

But, suddenly, there came a lurid flare that seemed to 
fill the tent with flame, and there was a simultaneous crash 
of thunder, followed by outcries, shouts, the trumpeting 
of an elephant, cries of whining terror from the other 
animals, all the sounds and signs of panic. 

For the moment Rushington could not tell that any- 
thing startling had really happened. But then he realized 
that the lights in the big tent had been extinguished, and 
that the people were scrambling down over the seats in 
the darkness, while there was another flash, redder, more 
continuous than the other — a flash that became a lurid 
glare growing more vivid each second, while the cries 
from the people took a more coherent form. 

“Fire! the tent — on fire I” 

That was the cry, and the bewilderment of Phil was 
over. His presence of mind returned. Eona, on her 
horse, had dashed out at the exit, and was already clear 
of the tents. A glance showed him that the tent had 
been struck near the main entrance, and that a section 
of the canvas was in flames. 

In an instant -he was among his canvasm.en, rousing 
them to action. Accustomed as they were to rapid work. 


Tlie Tent on Fire. 


136 

his orders sent them to the task like men ordered into 
battle. 

'‘Furl up the front section, quick!” he ordered. “We 
can save the rest of it, if we are quick enough. And the 
people — here, here!” 

Several women and boys had tried to make their exit 
by way of the main entrance, but a tongue of flame flapped 
alm.ost in their faces, driving them back. Then there 
was a dash in the opposite direction, and but for Rush 
they would have been in among the horses, now frantic 
with fright. 

He stopped them. A boy of ten would have been trampled 
to death under the hoofs of the horses, but Phil caught 
and lifted him clear, and with the lad in his strong arms 
he cried to the panic-stricken knot of people who, seeing 
no way clear for escape, stood dazed and helpless. 

“Follow me, and keep cool ! There is no danger, for 
the crowd is small. Come this way !” 

His voice rang above the sounds of tumult in the tents, 
and yet there was such reassuring calm.ness in it that the 
excitement was in a measure quelled. They followed at 
his heels, and in another moment he had them out of the 
stifling tent where the cool rain was falling in a torrent, 
and the lightning flashing against the inky clouds, with 
the thunder booming like a battle close at hand. 

Fie gave the child over to the care of an older brother, 
and dashed back into the tent. As he did so he nearly 
collided with a stout, red-faced man who caught at his 
arm to detain him. 

“Where is that girl, Mr. Rushington ?” 


The Tent on Fire. 


137 

The man spoke in a gruff voice, and his keen eyes 
looked searchingly into Phifs. 

“What girl?” was the retort. And yet, in his heart, 
Phil knew who was meant. 

“Isabel, the star rider.” 

“I don’t know where she is.” 

“Why didn’t she ride to-night?” 

“That is a question I can answer no better than I can 
the other. I suppose, however, that she is in the dressing- 
room, or that she was there before the alarm of fire was 
sounded.” 

The officer smiled grimly. 

“I looked out for that, young man. When she did not 
appear according to the schedule I was investigating the 
dressing-room myself. She had gone from there. I was 
told that she was with you.” 

“Who told you so?” 

“A young man with a face that looked as if he had 
been fooling with a bombshell.” ' 

“Melton, the clown ! So he told you that, did he ! 
Well, it is a falsehood. I have seen Isabel to-night, but 
not to talk with her, and when I saw her she had just 
left Melton. Go back and question him if you want to 
know more. I’ve got m*y hands about full now.” 

Phil tried to throw off the grasp of the officer, but it 
clung, and the man said : 

“If you connive at that girl’s escape you will be held 
responsible. Bear that in mind.” 

“But you will not succeed in scaring anybody who isn’t 
afraid of you — bear that in mind !” Phil sharply retorted. 


138 The Tent on Fire. 

The officer went out of the tent to look out for sus- 
pects among the departing and hurrying forms. And 
Rushington plunged back into the darkness and stifling 
smoke within the big tent. 

As he groped his way another electric flash lit up the 
space, and he saw some one crouching underneath one 
of the seats close to the rope. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE FLIGHT. 

It was Isabel. At first the young circus owner thought 
her dead — that she had tried to find her way from the 
tent in the darkness and that she had fallen from one of 
the higher seats, or, possibly, that she had become stifled 
by the smoke. 

The canvasmen had already furled up the section of the 
tent which was on fire, and the rain, driving in in a tor- 
rent, deluged everything. Had it been a building of 
wood, the rain would not have extinguished the flames so 
easily. But the canvas became drenched almost instantly, 
and it was damp on the outside to begin with. 

At no time had the rain fallen more heavily than when 
Phil went back into the tent. Men and horses were 
dragging the cages forth, and the work of taking down 
the seats had begun. Lights swung aloft, and the wind 
was clearing away the smoke, as the sides of the tent 
were furled. 

Rushington bent over the crouching form of Isabel. 
Her face was covered by her hands, and she was per- 
fectly still. He took hold of her arm gently, and he was 
thrilled with the delight of relieved fear when she stirred 
and uttered a sound like a sob. But she did not raise 
her head. 

“Isabel, we are breaking up,” he said, in a low voice. 


140 The Flight. 

“Leave me here,” she answered, still with her face 
covered. 

“That can’t be. It is raining a torrent. Come and be 
ready to go with us.” 

“You know that I cannot go with you. You know 
that I shall be followed and arrested before I can get cut 
of the town. Leave me here and I will try and take care 
of myself. I will not have him take me. I am not the 
one who did it, and I will never come to trial for it !” 

The girl raised her head as she said this, and tried to 
rise to her feet. But Phil lield her back. 

“He went out of the tent only a moment ago, and he is 
likely to come back. If you deserve arrest, Isabel, I have 
no right to interfere to prevent it. If you are innocent of 
any crime, I will protect you. If you are guilty, I will 
still be your friend in need, and do everything that may 
be legally done in your behalf.” 

Phil spoke rapidly, in a low voice, and so earnestly and 
kindly that Isabel broke down and wept as passionately 
as a child. Phil’s hands touched her hair softly. 

“What is it, Isabel?” he asked. ' 

“It is a long story, and I could not tell it now.” 

“With what are you charged?” 

“With theft.” 

“Of what?” 

“Money — a large sum. But I am innocent. I never 
took the money. I never took a penny that did not 
belong to me.” 

“Look at me, Isabel!” 

She uncovered her face, and her eyes, full of tears, met 


The Flight. 


141 

his gaze steadily. It was not the gaze that comes of a 
brazen resolution to face out a falsehood, but, if Phil 
Rushington could judge the truth, the girl star rider was 
honest then. 

“If you are guilty, in ever so slight a degree, Isabel, 
do not hesitate to tell me,” said Rushington. 

“I am not guilty. If I were I would tell you, for I 
believe that you would still be my friend.” 

“I believe you. And if you are innocent, then you 
must not be permitted to suffer for it, if you can be pro- 
tected. But we have not time here or now to talk it 
over. Come with me. I will see what can be done.” 

The girl arose obediently and allowed Phil to lead her 
across the tanbark to the smaller tent where all the horses 
had been taken. 

The danger of the fire was over, unless the improbable 
event of the tent being struck again were to occur. One 
man was with the horses. In a little more than an hour 
the train which would take the circus from the town 
would leave, and it would take fast work to get the prop- 
erty loaded. The ‘jump” to the next town where they 
were to exhibit was a longer one than usual, and for 
that reason they must start earlier. 

Our hero quickly found Isabel’s horse. He ordered 
her saddle to be put on, and then accompanied the girl 
to the dressing-room entrance. 

“Go and put on your long riding skirt,” he said, “and 
send Mamie out to me. I wish to speak to her.” 

Isabel obeyed without a word. 

Mamie had hardly seen Rush to speak to him that 


142 


The Flight. 

day. Friends and playmates as they had been in child- 
hood, and connected from the first with his two ventures 
as a showman, Mamie held a place in his confidence which 
was different from that of any member of his company. 
As the girl came out Walt joined them. 

In a few words Phil told them of the danger of Isabel, 
and of what he wished to do for her. 

“What do you think of it?” he asked, when he had 
finished. 

Mamie was quick to speak. 

“Oi don’t belave the girl is a thafe, except of toime, 
and it is mostly from Walt that she has stolen toime, 
Oi’m thinking,” said Mamie. 

“If she told you squarely that she is innocent. Rush, 
I’m willing to abide in my judgment by yours,” added 
Walt. 

“What do you think I am justified in doing under the 
circumstances ?” 

“Let the officer get left. It would be good for the 
loikes of him. Didn’t he come palavering around here 
this night and thry to hoire me to tell him how Isabel 
come to join this show, and where she come from, and if 
she is honest in her dalings while she was wid us, and if 
Oi hadn’t missed some diamonds or money, that might 
be traced to her, and the loikes of that? Then he thried 
to chuck me under the chin wid one of his stumpy fin- 
gers, and Oi snapped at it wid me teeth, and made him 
jump back and swear. That is the koind of man he is. 
And would Oi help him? Oi would not. Oi’d help him 
to get in the soup, and that is all !” 


143 


The Flight. 

“If he behaved in that manner, then it decides me 
against him. If Isabel is accountable for anything, I can 
do nothing for her except in her defense after her arrest. 
But I will not see her arrested and made trouble over a 
trumped-up charge if I can help it. In the end, she will 
have to explain everything to me, but now there is not 
time, for all that is done will have to be done promptly.” 

“Oi’m ready for anny old thing that will get the best 
of the chump that took me to be so aisy.” 

“And I am ready to take a hand in the same game. 
Now I have done up a clown, I feel as if I could do the 
same service for a detective, if it comes in his line,” said 
Walt. 

“It will have to be by strategy, and the cleverest at 
that, and you may both help. I will stay with the show 
and accompany it to the next town. But you, Walt, may 
take a ride with Isabel. Here is my plan, and you must 
act in a hurry. Mamie will wear one of Isabel’s cos- 
tumes, and make up to look as much like her as she can. 
She will make some show of trying to keep shady, and if 
the officer is spying, he will follow us to the station and try 
there to arrest Mamie. That will give Isabel time to 
get out of the way on horseback. I want Walt to ac- 
company her, and see that she gets into good quarters. 
Meanwhile, I will get at the truth of the matter and deal 
with the officer myself. If she is innocent, I don’t be- 
lieve there is any need of her going through the delay 
and worry of a trial. Of course, there is something back 
of it, but it is not necessarily against her.” 

'‘A good plan,” said Walt. 


144 


The Flight. 


“And Oi’ll fool that chump to bate the car-rs!’’ ex- 
claimed Mamie, as she danced away into the dressing- 
room. 

Walt saw that the horses were ready for Isabel and 
himself, and at the same time he discussed the details of 
the proposed flig'ht with Phil. The latter tarried only 
until Isabel came out, ready to go. 

At first he thought it was Mamie, for her face was cov- 
ered with a veil, and she wore the costume which Mamie 
wore in the street parade that day, which the officer must 
have observed. 

But, behind the veil, our hero could see that there were 
tears and she could hardly control her voice to speak to 
him. 

“I am ready,’’ she said. 

“I have instructed Walt to go with you, and to see that 
you find safe quarters. Meanwhile, I will see that every- 
thing possible is done to clear you of this matter. Will 
you tell me where it was that the charge was first brought 
against you?” 

“It happened more than a year ago, in the city of 
Scranton.” 

“You were charged with the theft of money?” 

“Of diamonds. But, Phil Rushington, as I live, I 
know nothing of the crime. I was told at the time that 
somebody had the jewels stolen, and it happened in a 
hotel where I happened to be stopping for the day.” 

“That would not have been sufficient evidence to im- 
plicate you, any more than it would the other guests in 
the house. What was the other evidence?” 


145 


The Flight. 

‘‘The stolen jewels were found with a pawnbroker in 
another city which I visited later, and the person who 
pawned them answered, in a general way, to my de- 
scription.” 

“Is that all?” 

“That is all, except ” 

She hesitated. 

“Come,” said Phil, “don’t waste time, and don’t keep 
anything back.” 

“I found that I was being suspected and watched, and, 
fearing trouble, I consulted a lawyer. He advised me to 
‘keep shady.’ So I left the city in a hurry, and that was 
all I could do about it. I think now that the lawyer 
thought I was guilty, and that the best way out of it for 
me was to keep out of the way until the affair blew over. 
It would have been better for me to have faced it then. 
But now my flight at that time will go against me with 
the other circumstances.” 

“That is so. And this flight will make it all the darker 
for you, and it rings me into it, besides. Now, once 
more, Isabel, if you have not told me the whole truth, do 
so, for it is worse for you to be untrue to a friend than 
it would have been for you to steal the valuables.” 

The girl’s beautiful eyes once more met Rushington’s 
frankly. 

“I have told you the truth, and I am innocent of all 
knowledge of the stolen property. Please, please believe 
me, for I would rather suffer for the crime than to escape 
and have you feel that I was not true?” 

“I will believe you. But I did not wish to have a 


146 


The Flight. 


shadow of doubt left. What I do for you now may make 
trouble for me, and I wish to know that I am in the 
right.” 

"‘Rest assured, then, that you are in the right, and 
may Heaven bless you, my dear friend ” 

“There, there, you must go. There is Walt with the 
horses. Mount and off with you !” 

Their hands clasped, and by a quick, impulsive move- 
ment, Isabel bent toward him, and he felt the touch of 
her lips against his cheek. Then they mounted and rode 
away into the darkness. 


CHAPTER XX. 


MAMIE AND THE DETECTIVE. 

Phil Rushington could feel the tremulous touch of Isa- 
bel’s lips against his cheek long after she had disappeared 
with Walt in the darkness. He stood like one in a dream. 
He knew that he was doing for her what few would have 
done with nothing but her unsupported word as evidence 
in her favor. He recalled, now, with a sense of appre- 
hension, various suspicious incidents which had occurred 
since Isabel had been connected with his circus. 

Her explanation of this matter did not clear up the 
other, and, connecting them in his mind, he could not 
banish the fear that, after all, she might have deceived 
him in her anxiety to escape from the consequences. 

‘‘Not many have the courage to admit to their best 
friends that they have done a great wrong,” was his 
thought. “And it is clear that she likes me as well as a 
best friend, at least. If she only might be certain that 
I would do her justice in any case. If I might only 
know, absolutely, the truth.” 

Phil turned to see to the business of breaking up, for 
there were instructions to be given. As he did so, he 
saw Melton dodge behind the flap of the space which he 
had been occupying since the fight with Walt Arkwright. 

The glimpse he had of the man’s face showed it to be 
black as a thundercloud. 


148 


Mamie and tlie Detective. 


“He has been listening and spying ?” thought the 3 ^oung 
circus owner. 

He bounded into the tent and caught Melton by the 
shoulder. 

“You were watching!” he exclaimed. 

“Well, what if I was ?” was the retort. 

“Don’t you dare to betray Isabel Currier to the officer. 
That is all. Don’t you dare to do it !” 

“What would happen if I did?” sneered Melton. 

“I would thrash you within an inch of your life ! That 
is what.” 

The other drew back, and it was plain that the threat 
was not without an effect on his resolution. He had 
heard of Phil Rushington’s exploits, and he had no in- 
clination at that time to put him to any test. 

“You — you would stand up for any girl that would give 
you such a sweet good-by, I dare say I” he muttered. 

“Keep your mouth shut, Melton, and see that you do 
not rouse my anger, for I will surely do as I say 1” 

Melton slunk away without a word, and Rush went 
about the work v^hich he had neglected. 

The big tent was down, most of the property was 
loaded ready to be carted to the cars, and the cages and 
some of the teams were already on the road. Only the 
small tent, with the dressing-room, the compartment for 
the horses, etc., remained standing. These would be 
taken last. 

Phil had hardly left the small tent before another figure 
came running into it. It was Clay, the officer who w^as 
on watch for Isabel. The man was out of breath, his 


Mamie and tlie Detective. 149 

face was red as flame, and he burst in where Melton 
stood, still quaking from the encounter with Rushington. 

“You promised not to let her give me the slip !” ex- 
claimed Clay, furiously. 

“Well, I let her wheedle me, and I was a fool to do 
it,'’ said Melton. 

“Where is she now? Tell me quick, or I’ll have you 
over the coals for abetting her escape.” 

Melton hesitated. He could not so soon forget the 
threat of Phil Rushington, and he dreaded to brave the 
wrath of the young showman. It was true that he had 
given no pledge, but Phil would hold him to it just the 
same, he was sure of that. 

“I can’t tell you where she is, and that is the truth,” he 
declared at last, as Clay stood over him, his hot breath 
in the young fellow’s face. 

“You can tell me wRich way she went.” 

“I don’t even know that.” 

Clay caught the young man by the shoulder and shook 
him as a terrier would shake a rat. 

“You are dodging the truth now, and you know it !” 

“I am not dodging the truth, and you had better keep 
your hands off me.” 

“You promised to help me to take the girl, and now 
you have let her go right from under your eyes.” 

“She went with somebody else.” 

“With whom?” 

“The chum of the manager of the show, Arkwright.” 

“How did they go?” 

“Horseback.” 


150 Mamie and the Detective. 

'‘Very good! Now, where did they go?’' 

“That is more than I was able to find out. I listened to 
some of their talk, but could get only a part of it, and 
the part I lost was their destination. I could only guess 
ar that.” 

This was true. So was the next statement made by 
Melton, the treacherous clown. 

“Give me your guess, then,” said Clay. 

“I think there is an express train goes from this sta- 
tion before the circus train, and that they went to catch 
that.” 

“Likely enough. And when does the train go?” 

Melton looked at his watch. 

“I can’t remember for certain, but I think it is due in 
five minutes.” 

“Then I’ll catch it if I can on one of these horses. The 
man in charge must let me take one to pay for the inter- 
ference of Rushington. If you have fooled me in this, 
look out for squalls when I return 1” 

Clay made a dash for the horse tent, where the man in 
charge was in the act of leading out the ring animals. 
He would have sprung upon the back of one of them, but 
the man — or youth, rather — held him back. 

“What are you going to do 1” exclaimed the fellow. 

“I must catch that express at the station. Imperative. 
I’m an officer of the law !” 

“Can’t help it, if you’re the president of the nation. I 
couldn’t let you have that horse. It is a trick ani- 
mal ” 


Mamie and the Detective. ^5^^ 

“Well, so am I !” snapped Clay. And he let the 'youth 
have his burly fist between the eyes. 

The youth was on his feet as soon as the man was on 
the horse, and in a flash a word was spoken to the steed. 
Then Clay found what it meant to mount a circus horse 
which had been taught obedience. 

The horse “bucked,’’ throwing heels in the air so that 
he almost stood on his head. The man landed on the 
grass, and all in a heap. The young fellow in charge 
drew the horses into a bunch, and then waited for Clay 
to get up and try something else. 

Clay arose, but he tried no more circus horses. He 
saw one of them showing its teeth viciously, and he had 
a suspicion that the beast had instructions to take a 
mouthful from his shoulder. He did not wait to ask any 
questions, for he reasoned that there was a possibility of 
his reaching the station before the departure of the ex- 
press, and he made a break for it on foot, using his legs 
for all they were worth. 

The distance was not great. Mamie had already ar- 
rived there on her horse, and she had gone alone. 

She had no intention of going on any train except that 
which would take the rest of the circus people. Her only 
object was to decoy the detective on a false scent, and to 
bother him in as many ways as possible, to give Isabel 
more time to get out of his way. 

Clay came up to the station, puffing and perspiring. 
Mamie saw him coming, and stood beside her horse, a 
little way from the platform. 

As he ran up, she made a hurried move as if she would 


152 


Mamie and the Detective. 


^have moanted. But she allowed him to get ahead of her, 
and to seize her arm. 

“Now, girl! Haven’t I got you, eh?” he exclaimed, 
exultantly. 

“Let go of me 1” screamed Mamie, struggling. 

“Well, I guess not, my beauty. Not this time. Come, 
must I put the twisters on to you ? Great Goshen !” 

Spat! fell Mamie’s open palm on the man’s cheek. It 
was no baby’s pat, either, and as he staggered under it 
his cheek looked as if the blood might break through 
the skin. 

He released his hold on her arm, and before he could 
recover it, the girl was on the back of her horse, and the 
latter was capering around the officer as lightly as an 
autumn leaf in a whirlwind. 

“Come, my covey, and put up the dukes av yees for a 
foight if ye belave ye are good for wan !” taunted Mamie. 

Clay tried to cut across the narrow circle made by 
the curveting horse, but the girl kept just beyond his 
reach, yet so close that he thought each moment that he 
would succeed in pulling her from the back of the animal. 

Of course, she could keep as far away from him as 
she pleased, for her horse was obedient to every touch 
and word, and there were a score of surprising tricks of 
which the animal w^as capable if called upon to perform 
them. 

But Mamie was not disposed to keep up the “picnic” a 
great while. The man was beside himself with rage al- 
ready, and so exhausted by his violent exertions that he 
perspired from every pore. A 


Mamie and the Detective. 153 

Suddenly a revolver flashed out from a pocket, and he 
called out hoarsely : 

“Stop, you vixen, or Fll shoot !” 

Mamie was not afraid of his shooting at her, but it oc- 
curred to her that he might wound the horse, and that 
was enough to make her more cautious. 

She pulled up, and at the same time there was the 
clatter of another horseman approaching. 

It was Phil Rushington. 


CHAPTER XXL 


THE TELEGRAM. 

Qay saw the young showman at the same time that he 
was first observed by Mamie. He stepped up to the latter, 
still leveling his weapon. 

“Come,’’ he wheezed, “you have given me trouble 
enough. Get off of there or it will go hard with you !” 

“And it has gone hard wid yourself, Oi’m thinking!” 
said Mamie. At the same time she flung up her veil, and 
sat with her face fully disclosed to the officer, smiling 
saucily down at him. 

“Great Goshen I” gasped the man. 

“Or anny other old thing !” chimed in the Irish girl. 

Rushington rode up, cool and smiling, sitting his horse, 
as the bills said, “like Buffalo Bill.” 

“What has Mamie been doing, that you threaten to 
shoot her, may I ask?” exclaimed Phil. 

“I — I thought it was the other.” 

“The other what?” 

“You know what I mean. You have been tricking me, 
and I’ll make it go hard ” 

“Oh, of course you will,” laughed Phil. “You are a 
great hand to make things go hard — with yourself. But 
you must not think that your story of wanting to arrest 
my star rider will go down with me. You are up to 
something else, and I’ll have you pulled in, just for fun, 
to see what you mean by annoying the young ladies be-^ 


155 


The Telegram. 

longing to my show. The other one — Eona — says that 
you hung about her to-day, too, and accosted her. A fine 
old flame you are 1 Get out of the way !” 

Clay fell back. Phil Rushington seemed to be very 
much in earnest. He reflected that he had made rather 
free in his manner of seeking information of the girl 
performers in the circus. Like many others, he assumed 
that no one who was respectable ever rode in a circus 
ring, and he thought that anything he might say to the 
circus girls would not be resented. 

Having tried to chuck Mamie under the chin, and got 
his pay for it, he was not slow to recognize her now that 
her veil was lifted. He realized that it might put him 
in a bad light, for he had not acted the part of a dignified 
officer. 

As a matter of fact, he was a private detective who had 
taken up the case for the reward there was in it, and he 
had thought to get ahead of one or two others who were 
on the same case. 

There had been a thousand dollars offered for the re- 
covery of the valuables, not because of their intrinsic 
value so much as that they were specially valued by the 
loser for other reasons. 

This was worth working for, and Qay had gone in to 
win. He really believed that he was on the right track, 
but he had been told that the thief was a clever young 
professional female ‘"crook,"’ and he was consequently 
more cautious and slow in the business than he would 
otherwise have been. 


The Telegram. 


156 

At heart, he was as unscrupulous as were many of the 
criminals whom he sought to entrap. 

Having thus compromised himself in a degree by his 
own doubtful behavior, he was not so independent as to 
future action as he would otherwise have been. 

'‘I — I thought this was the girl I wanted!” he stam- 
mered. 

“You seem to want most any pretty girl that you get 
your eyes on. That yarn about stolen jewels is rather 
thin, and the thing for you to do now is to get out of the 
way. The Mossman 8z Rushington Circus people know 
their business, and they haven’t any crooks in their em- 
ploy. Get out of the way, I tell you!” 

“Wait a moment !” said Clay, putting on the last of his 
dignity. 

“And what must I wait for?” 

“Here is my badge.” 

“Which is worth no more than a tobacco tag without 
special authority in the city or town where you try to 
use it.” 

“I have such authority here, granted twenty-four hours 
ago. The place has inadequate police protection, and they 
were glad enough to let me take the oath as a special 
officer without pay, to serve while this circus was in town, 
with the crooks that always follow such a show, when 
they don’t actually belong to it.” 

This was a vicious hit, and the cheeks of Phil Rushing- 
ton showed by their color that he had got through trying 
to treat the man with courtesy. 

“Mamie,” he said, to the girl who was observing and 


The Telegram. 157 

listening, ready to take part whenever she might be called 
upon. 

‘‘Yes, sir-r.^^ 

“Did this man behave in a manner becoming an officer 
when he came to you to-day to make inquiries?’' 

“He did not, indade !” 

“Would you be willing to take oath to it?” ^ 

“That Oi would, and there are other witnesses.” 

“Well, then, we’ll have the matter looked into. I don’t 
like the idea of the delay, but I will have him taken in 
hand to-night, and we can come back and testify in a day 
or two, for they will put over the hearing for that length 
of time, out of consideration for our business, which won’t 
bear neglect.” 

Rushington seemed to be thoroughly angry, and he 
wheeled his horse as if he were determined to put his 
threat into immediate execution. 

As a matter of fact. Clay was guilty of more indiscre- 
tion even than Phil dreamed of, and he knew that to be 
pulled into court would endanger a bringing up of a lot 
of evidence that would ruin his prospects, in that region 
at least. And he was at the same time on the track of an- 
other case that he hoped would yield him a good return. 

To keep out of court as a defendant, therefore, was 
what he wished most of all things to do. He must do so 
at any cost. 

“Hold on ! hold on !” he cried. 

“What is it ?” our hero demanded. 

“I’ll admit that I didn’t do just right when I spoke to 


The Telegram. 


158 

this girl. A man will act silly sometimes. I’m willing to 
make it right, if a little money will do it.” 

“Money won’t do it,” said Rushington. 

“Why — why I didn’t do or say anything much out of 
the way. Just a little fun, that is all. A man must have 
his joke.” 

“An officer mustn’t have his joke when he is on duty, 
and you know it.” 

“It wasn’t just right in me. I’ll admit. And I have 
offered to make it right.” 

“With money. But money won’t do it.” 

“What will, then?” 

“Better behavior, or a pledge of it.” 

“I’ll give that — glad to do it.” 

“And getting out of this town on the train that will 
be along pretty soon.” 

“But I haven’t finished my business here yet.” 

“Yes, you have.” 

“That star rider of yours, you may be sure, is really 
guilty of theft, and on a pretty big scale at that.” 

“Not until she is proven so, my friend. You cannot 
arrest her in this town, for two reasons.” 

“What are they?” 

“For one, she is not in this town at the present mo- 
ment.” 

“That so? I guess ” 

“No guesswork about it, Mr. Clay. She rode away 
from the town, now more than half an hour ago, and 
where she went to I’m not going to tell until some one 
with a better record than yours asks me. Meanwhile, 


159 


Tlie Telegram 

proof of her innocence of the charge against her will be 
speedily obtained, and then, if necessary, I will see that 
she is legally acquitted. With the case you have nothing 
more to do — not in this town, in any case.” 

Clay was perspiring now more from chagrin than exer- 
cise. He could see that, being a stranger in the town, 
the charge of unbecoming behavior would tell heavily 
against him and he dared not face them. There seemed to 
be nothing to do except to yield. 

‘‘This is rather hard on me !” he exclaimed, more 
humbly than he had spoken before. 

“It would be hard on me if you had taken my star rider 
away on a trumped-up charge. That is costly to a show 
like mine, I can tell you. I would have been willing to do 
the right thing, had you come to me in the first place. If 
I had reason to believe that the girl was guilty, I would 
have seen that she received the penalty. I would not 
shield a criminal. But I stand by my people, when they 
are in trouble, and they will do as much by me. That 
Melton, a clown in my employ, is responsible for some of 
the testimony against Isabel, unless I am mistaken, and 
he is no more nor less than a coward and a sneak.” 

By this time the teams of the circus were arriving at 
the station to make ready for departure. While Rush- 
ington was speaking, a man came out of the station and 
approaching them, asked : 

“Is this Mr. Robert Clay?” 

The detective, growing pale, assented. 

“A telegram for you,” said the other. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


clay's defeat. 

It always seems as if surprises, like troubles, never 
come singly, whether we do well or ill in the world. 

Mr. Robert Clay was not a reprobate, but he had been 
foolish and unfaithful in small things, and that kept him 
in a stew when there was a crisis in his affairs. 

He was in a profession that did not yield a regular 
salary. Although he had made considerable money in his 
life, and did it honestly, there were times when he had 
little cash in his pocket. 

This was one of those times. He had been in hard luck 
for many weeks, and he hoped by the prompt arrest of 
Isabel Currier to brace up his finances without more 
delay. 

That was why he had worked so desperately. That was 
why he had been tempted to be a little dishonest and hasty 
in his methods. 

So a hitch in the proceedings had been brought about. 
And now, while he was making a struggle so as not to 
lose the grip he had gained already, a telegram must come, 
which made his knees shake as he read it. 

Pie read the message through three times, pretending 
that he could not quite make it out, although the copy was 
typewritten and as plain as print could make it. 

“I don’t understand this !” he mumbled. 

“In Greek, is it?” Phil queried. 


Clay’s Defeat. 


i6i 


‘‘It moight be in Kilkenny suggested Mamie. 

“It seems to say/' drawled Clay, “that somebody had 
been arrested for the theft of those jewels. But, of 
course, it is a mistake.” 

“May I see the telegram?” 

Phil reached out for it with fingers trembling with 
eagerness. Nobody knew how he was troubled about 
the charge against Isabel. He had never realized before 
how he trusted her, or how painful would an unhappy 
discovery concerning her be to him. 

Clay was more willing to hand him the message than 
he was to read it aloud, for the contents were too un- 
welcome for his lips to utter. 

The message was as follows: 

“To Mr. Robert Clay, Private Detective: 

“Esther Craig arrested in Scranton to-day for theft of 
Wilmuth jewels, confesses guilt. Some of jewels on per- 
son. Isabel Currier innocent. (Signed), 

“X Murnane, Sergeant Scranton Police.” 

“Good — good !” cried Phil. He waved the paper 
in the air, and then thrust it into the hand of Mamie, 
who actually burst into tears as she read it. 

“It’s joy that Oi’m crying wid,” she said, with a saucy 
shake of her head at the crestfallen officer. 

“Must be a mistake !” persisted Clay. 

“That’s right, and it is you that have made it !” laughed 
Rushington. 

“A koind of stake that’s not so rare wid the loikes av 
him, Oi’m thinking.” 


i 62 


Clay’s Defeat. 

Mr. Clay did not tarry to hear more comments of this 
kind, for he was not in a happy mood then. His pockets 
were empty, he had made a guy of himself, and the re- 
ward which he had thought was almost in his grasp was 
snatched by another. 

“Great Goshen ! what a mess Tve made of it !” he mum- 
bled as he shambled away, out of the sight of Phil Rush- 
ington and Mamie forever. 

Phil had not been so full of joy for many a day. He 
had really thought that Isabel was in a dangerous situa- 
tion, and the shadow troubled him more than he had cared 
to admit. 

It had been arranged that Walt should stop at a small 
town eight miles distant from the one from which they 
had departed, and equally distant from the one to which 
the show was going. , 

Our hero was to communicate with Walt there, either 
by telegraph or telephone, and instruct for future move- 
ments. 

Communication could not be had until morning, after 
their arrival in the town where they were billed to appear. 
But from there the good news was telephoned. 

They were instructed to come on by the next train, that 
Isabel might be in time for the afternoon performance, 
and, if possible, for the street parade also. 

They arrived promptly. Phil met them at the station. 
Isabel looked into his glad eyes as she stepped from the 
cars, and his delight brought her a greater one. 

“Your trust was not misplaced, after all !” she said, in 
a low tone, as their hands met. 


Clay^s Defeat. 


163 

They were in time for the parade, but there was no 
time to waste. Melton came with the show, although Phil 
would have been glad to pay him off and be rid of his 
services had he been disposed to avail himself of the 
opportunity. 

His face was swollen from the punishment that Walt 
had given him. Plis heart was sore from another cause, 
for he could see that Isabel knew of the treacherous part 
which he had played. 

His motives had been to win her confidence and re- 
gard by appearing to befriend her when she had no 
other friend. He had represented to her, in fact, that the 
officer had an understanding with Rushington by which 
she was to be given up at the close of the evening per- 
formance. 

“That was infamous, Isabel, that he should have said 
that to you !” Phil exclaimed, when she told him of it. 

“I have thought for some time that you suspected me of 
some sort of crime or mischief. Yet you have been so 
good to me. Melton told me after the night that I went 
to the tramp circus tent, where you found me, that you 
suspected me of a crime, or a plot, at that time. That is 
something that I never explained to you, because to do so 
I must speak of this charge of theft which has been hang- 
ing over me so long.” 

“Walt and I agreed to wait until you saw fit to ex- 
plain that matter,” said Rush. 

“You were so good, and I have been on the point of 
telling you the truth about that a score of times. But 
my courage has always failed at the last moment.” 


164 Clay^s Defeat. 

“You didn’t trust me quite enough.” 

“You shall know now why I went there.” 

“Very well. But if it is painful, don’t speak of it now. 
There will be another time.” 

“It is all over. There was a performer among those 
tramps, as they were called, who was formerly with the 
circus which I was with at that time. He knew about 
the stealing of the jewels, and what was being done about 
it, and I went to see him that night to get the latest facts. 
But he had few to give. He was a rough, rude fellow, but 
with a kind heart, and he stood stanchly by me then. 
That was why I paid that night visit to ihe tent of the 
tramp circus.” 

“Good. I am glad it is explained. Now I feel that all 
is clear. But this Melton must not remain in my show.” 

“I hate to have you turn him. off on my account.” 

“It is on mine that he must go. My show is made up, . 
as far as I know, of clean people. But I have at times 
had cause to suspect that there was some one connected 
with it who was a secret enemy. It is hard to locate the 
responsibility for certain events, but I have an idea that 
by getting rid of Melton some of the cause of trouble will 
be gotten out of the way.” 

Melton should have been able to act as a clown that 
day, but he shirked out of it, staying in the dressing-room 
and nursing his injuries — those to his feelings rather than 
the ones given him by Walt Arkwright. 

Rushington sought him out after the afternoon per- 
formance. 


Clay’s Defeat. 165 

“I expected to see you/’ said the fellow, as Phil came in 
and dropped on to a camp stool. 

“On what kind of an errand?” queried Phil. 

“To give me the grand bounce !” 

“So you think you deserve it ?” 

‘T didn’t say that.” 

“Do you think it?” 

“No.” 

“Then why should it occur to you that I came on such 
an errand?” 

“Because I knew that I made you angry yesterday, and 
that you thought I hadn’t done just right about Miss 
Currier.” 

“Do you think you did right about her ?” 

“I admit that I did not. But I was sore about some 
things. I am sorry for what I did. No fellow can say 
more than that.” 

“That is good, Melton. It takes some courage to con- 
fess a wrong. Now you are about it, what is the matter 
with you confessing some more things?” 

Melton gave our hero a quick, searching glance. 

Then he got up and tossed his head haughtily. 

“So you are not satisfied? You want to lay some more 
things on to me while you are about it — you want to make 
a sort of scapegoat of me.” 

“I have had several mysterious things happen within 
the few weeks that you have been with me. There was 
the escape of a lion from the cage in the city of Colum- 
bus ” 

Melton’s face grew livid, and he interrupted by a 


Clay’s Defeat. 


1 66 

string of maledictions. He shook his fist in the face of 
Phil Rushington, and fairly danced in his rage. He fin- 
ished by striding to the exit, saying : 

^‘That ends it. You are bound to discharge me, I can 
see that. It is always the way when a man is down — 
everybody jumps on him then. That is you! You’re a 
sneak I” 

^^All right,” said Phil, rising placidly. 

^‘Do you hear me? You are an infernal sneak!” 

“All right. But you needn’t take the trouble to repeat 
it.” 

“A sneaking, false, swellhead ” persisted the sav- 

age Melton. Then he felt something grasp hold of his 
collar, and something else in his rear, giving him a tre- 
mendous boost that sent him headlong out of the tent. 

“Mr. Arkwright will pay you what is due on salary,” 
said Phil, calmly, as the other slowly picked himself up. 

“That makes a worse enemy of him, if he was one be- 
fore,” said Walt, half an hour later. 

“How could it be helped? He was bound to have it, 
and I had to give it to him. I was as gentle as I could 
be under the circumstances.” 

“Probably you were. And it is likely that we are safer 
with him out of the show than if he were to stay in it. 
I really think now that he had something to do with the 
other mischief that you have suffered, and which has not 
been explained.” 

“So do I. But it is hard to prove, and I am at a loss to 
account for his motive.” 


Clay’s Defeat. 167 

^‘Might be jealousy, now that we know that he had 
taken a fancy to Isabel.” 

“Yes, it might be that. In that case, it is well that he is 
out of the show. It is well, anyway.” 

And there the matter was dropped. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


A PROSPEROUS YOUNG SHOWMAN. 

'‘A man is a fool to be poor. I don’t wonder that the 
sort of people who call themselves ‘unlucky’ are despised 
in the world, even by other unsuccessful people!” 

It was Phil who spoke; it was Walt who laughed in his 
quiet way, and answered : 

“So you have struck a new philosophy, just because you 
have been raking in the shekels so fast you don’t know 
what to do with them.” 

“It is a Phil-osophy,” laughed our hero. 

They were in a hotel room in a thriving city just north 
of Dixieland. They came in on an early express, and 
the circus train had already arrived, and the canvas was 
going up. 

It was the best hotel in the city, and the best room in 
the hotel. Phil was the best dressed man — young or old 
— in the house, and the real brilliant that scintillated in 
his scarf, with the generally prosperous air in his walk, 
his tones and his gestures, made him seem older than he 
was by at least five years. And it may be said that it is 
not always a good sign when a young man of twenty 
carries the airs of a man of twenty-five or thirty. 

Rushington had a letter in his hand which had been 
awaiting him in the hotel letter-box for two days. It was 
typewritten and signed with an undecipherable name, and 
sub-signed by the name of Drexel, 


A Prosperous Young Sliowman. 169 

“These people,” said the young circus owner, returning 
to the dignity of a prosperous man of business and tap- 
ping the open letter with his forefinger, “have been read- 
ing the papers. They know of the shows which are mak- 
ing money, and the shows that are losing. They are 
plain and matter-of-fact, and there isn’t a line of flattery 
in the letter. I like that. I know when people are trying 
to enlarge the measure of my head.” 

“That’s right. Rush. Yeast isn’t the only stuff to make 
things fizz and swell.” 

“These people,” Rushington continued, “have an agent 
at this house to make a business proposition to me. They 
state frankly that there will be considerable outlay con- 
nected with the scheme, and that small shows need to be 
cautious about going into it. But with conservative man- 
agement, it provides a means of rapid advancement in the 
status of the circus, appealing to the interest of the best 
people in even the first-class cities. Do you know, Walt, 
that I don’t like to go right by cities of a hundred thou- 
sand population and more and stop at towns of five 
thousand? A bigger city, a bigger show, a bigger tent, 
more money, without a proportionate increase of expenses, 
is on the line of shrewd, dignified up-building in this 
business.” 

Rushington was voicing his reflections, and Walt 
merely served as a phonograph to take the record of his 
remarks, and to give it out again when needed. And 
yet Walt Arkwright was not just like a phonograph, for 
his brain was not of wax, and consequently it did some 
original thinking. There were things recorded there 


170 A Prosperous Young Sliowman. 

which had never been talked into the generous-sized re- 
ceivers at the sides of his head. 

“What is the particular proposition from these people 
that you are speaking of?’' inquired Walt. 

“They don’t say. But they are agents who supply for- 
eign and domestic cage stock, and through them all kinds 
of new wrinkles in the business can be found or sup- 
plied.” 

“For a money consideration ?” said Walt. 

“Not much worth getting can be obtained without 
money.” 

“That is good sense, Ralph,” said Walt, warmly. And 
Walt v/as right. 

“About this Drexel, I will have to see him and listen to 
his proposition, as a matter of courtesy and business tact. 
If he has anything to offer that is worth considering, then 
I will make the most of it.” 

“And pay the bill.” 

“If I contract one I will pay it, of course.” 

“Well, Phil, I’m not going to croak; you know it isn’t 
my way, and, in general, it has been you who has given 
the good advice, and I who have needed it. But I must 
say that I never heard you talk in just the style that you 
have this morning.” 

“What do you mean ?” 

“Just a little on the spread-eagle scale!” 

Rushington gave his chum a keen glance. He had 
never known Walt to criticise him; indeed, Phil had 
never been much criticised by his friends, and, of course, 
the criticism of enemies is usually envious or unjust. 


A Prosperous Young Showman. 171 

Could it be, he asked himself, that there was any 
change in his own airs that provoked this new air in his 
friend? Or was there such a thing as envy in Walt, who 
had always been so faithful, always so ready to second all 
his efforts? 

Such a query as this crossed the mind of Phil; but he 
did not let the matter trouble him, for it did not seem to 
be of sufficient consequence. Walt was not a natural man 
of business, anyway. He was honest and clear headed, 
but he would never have been capable of managing a 
show, big or little. 

While Rushington was considering his letter, Walt was 
shyly fingering a missive which he, too, had received— 
which had been awaiting him in the hotel letter-box. 
Phil chanced to notice it, at last, and his interest was 
excited. 

‘‘I wonder if that is a business letter, old man?” Phil 
hinted. And he saw the cheeks of Walt flush like those of 
a girl who has received a letter from her sweetheart. 

^‘Not exactly business, either,” he laughed. 

^‘New girl?” 

“Not exactly new. But we never wrote many letters 
back and forth. We — er— to tell the truth, it is Lena 
Thurber, and she has got through at the Normal School, 
and she is coming out this way to teach. She just sort 
of wondered if we mightn’t happen to strike the same 
town that she was coming to.” 

“Ha ! ha !” chuckled Phil. And he stared at Walt until 
the latter exclaimed : 


172 A Prosperous Young Stowman. 

“Miss Thurber and I were always on friendly terms, 
but you know there wasn’t any sentiment between us.” 

“Oh, no. Course not!” 

“It is gospel truth. You know there are some girls 
that you can just talk with, and be sort of confidential 
about your ambitions in life, and the things you like to 
read, and the sort of music you both like, and if you hap- 
pen to be interested in the same studies, or other amuse- 
ments, why, with that sort of a girl, you can talk ’em over, 
and nothing is thought of it.” 

“Ha! ha!” 

“Confound you, Phil ! Can’t you believe a word I 
say ?” 

“Course I believe every syllable. Suppose I think you 
tell lies, Walt?” 

“But you don’t take anything I say seriously. Now, 
about Lena Thurber, you know she is not of the real sen- 
timental sort. She was practical and studious. The only 
i-rregular thing she ever did while she was a student at 
the Normal School was to join in the rebellion against the 
authority of Mr. Tarberry, a teacher in the school. And 
your Dora Warren was chiefly to blame for that.” 

“ ‘My Dora Warren’ — yes.” 

“You know it was Dora who proposed the rebellion, 
and after it started it would have been ended long before 
it was if she hadn’t had the nerve to hold out and to keep 
up the courage of the others.” 

“Nothing so very hard against her about that charge, 
to my mind.” 


A Prosperous Young Showman. 173 

‘‘I didn’t say there was. I merely was showing that 
Lena was the steadier one of the two.” 

“Lena is a fine sort of a girl, and a good girl of her 
sort, and it is better for you to hitch on with her than 
some of those that you have taken a fancy to. The right 
kind of a girl would be a help to you, if she did not let 
you keep too close to her. Girls spoil a man for business, 
and I’m going to have less to do with them even than I 
have in the past. A man can’t do much business if he 
lets his mind be taken up with his girl friends.” 

“You talk like a woman hater,” said Walt. 

“I’m not that. But I know a lot of good, bright fellows 
who would make a success in the world if they didn’t 
spend so much time dawdling about with girls. If the 
girls only realized that a man must hustle to make a suc- 
cess they might be more considerate and be a help instead 
of a hindrance. Some of them are. Now, Dora Warren 
is not like most of them. She doesn’t nag me because I 
don’t write her a fifteen-page letter every day. She 
knows I haven’t time to do it. She knows that I have 
business correspondence, and men to see and to talk with. 
When I get where I can be independent then I can write 
long letters. Business — ^business, now !” 

Walt shrugged his shoulders and was silent. 

Phil was always sensible and practical, but he seemed 
to be in a different mood from any that Walt had ever 
caught him in. And it may be said Walt was not quite 
satisfied with his chum under the new conditions. It 
seemed to him that his old chum was gone, and he did not 
know how to talk to him. 


174 A Prosperous Young SHowman. 

“Miss Thurber will be in at the performance this after- 
noon, probably,” said Walt. 

“I shall be glad to see her. Wish I could spend a lot 
of time with her, and you must tell her so. I haven’t 
forgotten the old days at Springvale, and the rebellion at 
the Norm, for it was there that I made the acquaintance of 
the brightest and wittiest. Wish she was coming with 
Lena — but I couldn’t see her much, so what is the use ?” 

Phil yawned. Then they went down to breakfast, and 
an hour later Rushington was closeted in his room with 
Mr. Robert Drexel, the traveling representative of the 
New York house. 

Mr. Drexel was young — he seemed to be about two 
years the senior of Phil. He was polite, well-dressed, and 
his success was due to his ability to read human nature 
almost by a glance into the face of one whom he had 
never seen before. 

“To begin with,” said Mr. Drexel, when both were 
seated in the luxurious room which had been assigned 
to the young owner of the circus, “let me ask you how 
much time you can give me this morning. I don’t wish to 
be a hindrance to a busy man at a busy hour.” 

“I can give you just an hour,” said Rushington, briskly, 
with a glance at his watch. 

“Plenty of time. Allow me ” Drexel did not wait 

for the other to assent as he touched an electric button. 
Nor did he wait for his consent, either, as he gave an 
order to the waiter. 

The order brought cigars and a bottle of light wine. 

“I have been told that you take nothing stronger than 


A Prosperous Young Sliowman. 175 

sherry,” smiled Mr. Drexel, as he filled the glasses, “and 
in that we won’t have to quarrel, for that is strong enough 
for the social obligation, and under no other consideration 
would I touch even that.” 

Phil made no reply to this, and he sipped a little of the 
wine. But he drank less than half the glass. 

“That made me appear less like a crank, and did me no 
harm,” he assured himself. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


ANOTHER BREAK BY ISABEL. 

Mr. Drexel was a model man of business, and he did 
not hazard the confidence of Phil by overstaying the hour. 
Pie was not glib nor loud nor coarse, and, withal, he was 
so genial and full of such subtle charm in speech and airs 
that Phil felt as though a new world had been opened to 
him by the acquaintance. 

Yet the young circus owner was not reckless in ordering 
attractions for his show through the agency which Drexel 
represented. He ordered canvas for an enlargement of 
his tent, and two cages of wild animals. He had found 
that the menagerie was a drawing feature, and in that his 
show was deficient. 

‘T don’t like to enlarge much faster than my cash sur- 
plus will allow, without running in debt,” he declared, 
when gently urged to increase the size of his orders. 

“A wise resolution. But debts are of many kinds, and 
when they are in the form of paying investment they 
soon put on the face of thrift. With that kind of a debt 
to discharge, a young man works the harder, for he feels 
that he has assumed a wholesome responsibility which he 
must look out for. It is on the same line with the taking 
of a good wife, and the assuming of family cares. A 
man alone, with no obligations of any kind, is like a boat 
without a rudder.” 

“Wife is a long way off for me,” laughed Rushington. 


Another Break by Isabel. 


177 


*‘For me, too, Fm afraid. I have to be on the go all the 
time in the interest of business. But I won’t urge you to 
dip in any deeper than you care to. Every man knows 
his own affairs best, to my mind. By the way, when do 
you leave this city?” 

“Property train goes at two o’clock in the morning. I 
shall probably go at four, on an express. That will give 
me time to sleep some undisturbed.” 

“Yes, yes. Good plan to sleep, too — though I have got 
so I take mine at odd times when there is nothing more 
interesting going. I stay here until morning, and I find 
that I have an old friend living in town, and he sent an 
invitation to come down and see him to-night. We go to 
the show, of course — then I run over to his house and we 
have a game of cards, and his good lady will probably 
have a little spread served. I was thinking that he would 
be sure to want you to accompany me, especially if he 
knew you were of our sort, as you evidently are. His 
charmer can sing like a nightingale. She has a sister who 
is stopping with them who has been a member of the 
dramatic profession, but who has no engagement for the 
summer. Interesting people, with lots of experience of all 
kinds. Wish you could see them.” 

Rushington hesitated. 

“I will see,” he replied. When Mr. Drexel went out 
of the room there was a faint smile on his face which 
Rushington would not have liked to see. 

Had Walt known the feelings which impressed his 
chum that morning after the interview with Mr. Drexel, 
he would have been yet more certain that there was a 


178 Another Break by Isabel. 

change in his old friend. It would have been a change 
which Walt Arkwright would not have been able to com- 
prehend, for it was something of which he was not himself 
capable. 

Two hours before the time for the street parade, Rush- 
ington went to the circus grounds for the first time that 
day. He had intrusted much of the general management 
to which he was in the habit of attending to Walt, as he 
had some planning to do which would require solitude. 

The tents were up, and everything seemed to be in as 
good shape as it could have been had Phil been at hand 
to oversee it all. , ♦ 

^T believe I will get rid of some of these coarser details 
in future,” he reflected. 'Tt will give me more time to 
work out plans for the improvement of the show, and at- 
tention to the financial end of it. As the show grows there 
is more to do, and one man can’t be everywhere and do 
everything all at the same time. Oh, I’m learning.” 

As there were no ears except his own to hear this, Phil 
did not feel guilty of having made a boast. His hat did 
not set any the tighter on his head. 

They were getting ready for the street parade. Grout, 
who was the ringmaster while the exhibition was in 
progress, and general utility man at other times, touched 
Phil on the arm. 

“What is the matter with your star rider?” he asked. 

“With Isabel Currier, you mean?” 

“Yes. Says she isn’t going to appear in the parade nor 
the ring to-day.” 

“Why not?” 


Another Break by Isabel. 179 

“That is what I was asking 3^ou.” 

“I know nothing about it. If she said that to you she 
must have given you the excuse.’’ 

“She would give none.” 

“Where is she?” 

“Sitting out yonder under the shade of a big oak.” 

“I will see her.” 

Rushington felt impatient — more so than he often felt 
toward any member of his company of performers. It 
seemed to him that this girl was determined to annoy him 
in one way or another. ^ 

As he approached the oak under which Isabel was sit- 
ting she sprang to her feet, and her cheeks flushed. 

“So Grouty had to tell you, did he? I told him to keep 
his lips closed for once !” she exclaimed. 

“What is the matter now, Isabel?” 

“Nothing, except that I don’t feel like showing off my 
accomplishments to-day.” 

“Aren’t you feeling well ?” 

“Yes.” 

“Something has gone wrong with you, then.” 

“I said I did not feel like riding. Eona and Mamie 
can fill up the extra time. I did it for Mamie the other 
day when she had a grumpy spell, pretending that she was 
sick.” 

“I didn’t know there was any pretense about it.” 

“You didn’t know — that’s right. Eona or Mamie, or 
any of the men performers, may put up some sort of a 
plausible sounding excuse for not doing what they ought, 
or for doing what they ought not, and you swallow it 


I So ALnother Break by Isabel. 

right down and have more confidence than ever in human 
nature. But when I am out of sorts and cross at every- 
body and ugly at myself more than at anybody else I just 
tell you the truth. The reason I don’t ride to-day is be- 
cause I don’t feel like it.” 

“Poor girl !” smiled Rushington. 

“Now you are making fun of me. But I don’t care.” 

“You ought to care. , Do you know, Isabel, that you 
seem determined to disappoint me, in one way or an- 
other.” 

“I don’t care for that, either.” 

“You seem to have lost your usual good sense. You 
are out of sorts with me about something; that is clear.” 

“I don’t know that I am. You have treated me with 
your usual indifference, and I ought to be satisfied.” 

In this remark Phil detected a hint of the real diffi- 
culty. She was jealous — but of whom, and for what new 
cause, he did not then dream. 

Our hero did not know then what to say or do. Ordi- 
narily, he had displayed considerable tact in dealing with 
feminine moods in those connected with his shows — both 
the dramatic, with which his experience had begun, and 
the circus, into which he seemed to be getting deeper 
every day. But his own mood was different. He had 
been talking with Mr. Drexel. 

“You had better shake this nonsense, Isabel, and show 
the people that you can ride as they never saw anybody 
ride before. Remember, you are on the bills, and I don’t 
like to break promises to the public without telling the 
reason why.” 


Anotlier Break by Isabel. i8i 

The face of Isabel flushed. She arose and faced Phil 
in unmistakable anger. 

'‘Give them the reason in the present case, if you wish !” 
she cried. 

“Just as you have given it to me?” 

“Yes.” 

“I shall not do that, because it would make you appear 
in a more ridiculous light in their eyes even than you do 
in mine.” 

“So I appear ridiculous to you, Phil Rushington?” 

“Of course you do. Do you suppose there is anybody 
who could see you now and hear what you have said 
and not feel like laughing at you?” 

Isabel’s cheeks had been flushed with excitement up to 
that moment. Now the flush faded and she became pale 
with anger. It was the first time that she had ever been 
really angry with Rushington ; and the very fact that she 
cared so much for him in her heart made her passion 
all the fiercer now it was aroused. 

“So you are speaking the truth to me at last !” she cried. 
“You have felt like laughing at me, I dare say, for some 
time, and now you have reached a point where you had as 
leave tell me of it ! Well, I don’t have to be insulted by 
you like that any more. I will never ride in your ring 
again !” 

“Isabel !” 

“I will never ride in your ring again !” 

She turned her back on him and walked away, going 
toward the street. He followed her, calling her by name. 


i 82 


AnotHer Break by Isabel. 


But she would not turn her head or speak, and as he drew 
nearer she' broke into a run. 

There chanced to be no one to observe them at the 
morhent' But that was a mere matter of good luck, and 
they were likely to be seen at any instant, and Phil real- 
ized that it would look queer if he were to be seen run- 
ning in pursuit of his star rider in that fashion. He 
could not think of doing it, and yet he felt that he must 
not let her go like that, in anger, giving up her position 
with his circus and throwing away his friendship, of 
which she certainly stooo sorely in need. 

“Come back, Isabel !” he called after her once more, 
and she must have detected the distress in his voice. But 
she did not look at him, and although she stopped run- 
ning, she kept on at a brisk walk. 

“She will come back when she has time to think of it,’’ 
he reasoned at last, and then he bent his steps toward the 
big tent. Here he met Mamie. 

“So she has run away frqii| ye?” exclaimed the Irish 
girl, laughing. ) 

“It is no joking matter, Mamie.” 

“It is for everybody except Isabel and Phil Rushington \ 
Aven the elephants and horses will laugh at ye when they 
come to know about it.” 

“Now don’t try to be hateful toward me, Mamie, for 
we have always been the best of friends.” 

“It is because Oi am a frind to ye that I have the more 
privilege to laugh. It is a joke to iverybody but you and 
Isabel. It will be no joke to her when she tries to get 
a place loike the wan she has in your show. All the man- 


Another Break by Isabel. 183 

agers won’t be in love wid her and honest at the same 
toime, she’ll foind that out.” 

“You needn’t think I am in love with her, Mamie !” 

“Oh, no. It is with themselves that most b’ys are in 
love, no matter what foine things they may spake.” 

“You are trying to make me angry, Mamie, but you 
won’t succeed. I can’t stop to have fun with you now. 
Didn’t you realize that it is a serious business to have 
the management of a show on one’s hands, with all the 
danger of loss, and the need of pleasing everybody, when 
there is nobody easy to be pleased? We are friends, 
Mamie, just the same as we always were, but I have no 
time for idle talk or fun now. Will you do some extra 
riding to-day to help fill the gap left by Isabel, who says 
she will not ride?” 

“Sure, Philip. And ye better spake to Eona, the ghost. 
She might do the fainting act for ye. Wid all the pallor 
of her face, all she would have to do would be to fall 
off her horse, and it would catch the crowd.” 

Phil was in no mood to reply to the nonsense of Mamie, 
although he would ordinarily have appreciated the humor 
of it. He must see Eona, who, on account of her pallor, 
Mamie called the ghost. 

As Phil went to seek Eona, two persons sauntered on 
to the circus grounds and stood partially shielded from 
view by a clump of small trees. One was Mr. Drexel, 
the other Louis Denton. 

The twain were talking earnestly, and the voung show- 
man was the subject of their speech. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


THE PLOTTERS. 

Louis Denton seemed to be in a jubilant frame of mind. 

'‘Why, I can hardly believe the evidence of my own 
ears, or of your lips, Drex !” he exclaimed. “Are you not 
giving me a fairy story — now, honest?” 

“I don’t see anything so wonderful in it,” said Drexel, 
with a puff of his cigar. 

“But I was told that Phil Rushington was a regular 
crank on the subject of drinking things that would in- 
toxicate. I never heard him preach about it, but there 
were fellows at the acad who have. And yet you say 
he drank a glass of wine with you this morning.” 

“Not more than half a glass, I said. I didn’t urge him 
to take more, out of policy. Why, half a glass made him 
feel no different than he would if it had been water. It 
was nothing. Dent.” 

“It was everything. It would be nothing if he had 
been in the habit of taking a glass now and then, in a 
temperate way, like most decent fellows. But he pre- 
tended to be so stiff about it and to preach such total 
abstinence. That is what counts. He has broken the ice, 
and the next thing is to entice him to make a plunge.” 

“That ought to be easy. But I don’t see. Dent, why 
you are so anxious to induce him to break a moral law. 
There are plenty of fellows doing that thing every day, so 
it is no great rarity.” 


The Plotters. 


i8s 

“I hate Rushington, that is why!’" 

“I never understood yet what the trouble was between 
you. You remember I was away from Springvale before 
you entered, and I never knew anything about the rackets 
you used to have.” 

“It was this way, Drex : This Rushington didn’t come 
into the academy in the regular way, in the first place. 
He was at first a student at Cushing Academy, in a little 
Massachusetts town sixty miles from Boston. It is a quiet, 
moral sort of institution, and some high-toned people’ 
have been graduated from that into the colleges — Har- 
vard, Yale and the rest. Rushington has, or used to 
have, a pretty hot temper, and he happens to know how 
to put up a fair sort of fight with his dukes, and he got 
into a row with another student of that academy. They 
fought it out, and somehow — likely enough by a foul — 
he hit the other chap such a clip that they thought he 
would die. The professors got onto it, and for the sake 
of keeping up the name of the academy, Rushington was 
as good as expelled. He says that he left of his own 
will, and that even the people of the fellow he knocked 
out exonerated him from blame ; but you know how people 
‘resign’ when they are invited to. It was probably the 
same with him. In that way he entered Springvale in the 
sophomore class.” 

“Well, what of that?” puffed Drexel with the cigar 
smoke. 

“I was telling how the row between us started.” 

“Were you in Cushing, or were you the one he knocked 
out in that academy ?” 


The Plotters. 


i86 

“No, to both. But I had a friend in Cushing who 
wrote and told me the whole business. When Rushing- 
ton came into Springvale with flying colors and started 
in to lead in athletics and popularity, I just dropped a 
hint of the Cushing affair to take him down a peg. He 
told me I lied, straight.’’ 

Dent tried to tell the story in a dramatic and impress- 
ive manner. But Drexel only said, with another puff 
of smoke: 

“Probably you weren’t over particular about the de- 
tails, Dent. But never mind. Did you hit him for it ?” 

“We settled it out in the old boathouse. If it had been 
a straight business he would have been glad to get out 
of Springvale, as he was to leave Cushing. But what 
could a man do in a fair fight with one who used brass 
knuckles ?” 

“Did he do that?” 

“There’s no doubt about it.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I don’t need to be any surer.” 

“Why didn’t you have it decided against him on the 
plea of a foul, then?” 

“Because I was practically alone and had nothing by 
which to prove anything against him.” 

“Did the blow cut open your head?” 

“It was not a cut, but it resembled a crack from a 
sledge-hammer. It nearly broke my skull, as a doctor 
said who afterward exam.ined me.” 

“Why didn’t you kick against the judgment in the 
first place?” 


The Plotters. 


187 

tell you I had nobody to back me up in any kind of a 
charge that I might make, for he had a knack of winning 
a certain class of the influential students over to his side. 
You know there are some who can do that thing.” 

“Yes, there are some who can do that thing,” smiled 
Drexel. And at the same time he thought : 

“I’ve noticed that in the end, the ones who could win 
over the best sort of people were the best sort them- 
selves. But this fellow couldn’t understand it if I were 
to say it to him. He has money, and I can afford to flatter 
him and to favor him — till I have pulled his leg all it will 
bear.” 

“That is why I hold a grudge against that fellow. Do 
you know, I had quite a reputation in the art of self-de- 
fense until I was fool enough to tackle that Rushington, 
with not a man to see fair play, and he of the kind to down 
a man in any old way that comes the easiest.” 

“Bad for you, that’s a fact. Next time you want to be 
the one to use the brass knuckles. What’s the odds how 
a man is downed, if the one who does it gets the best of 
him with brass or bone or brain? The fact that he gets 
the better of him shows him to be the better man, and 
that is all there is to it.” 

This was a fair sort of philosophy, and as nobody at 
that moment was getting the better of Denton, the latter 
was satisfied with it, since it justified him in using any 
means, no matter how underhand, to beat Rushington. 

Louis Denton was one of those unfortunate individuals 
who can never forgive one who has been the cause of 


The Plotters. 


1 88 

their humiliation. The sight of Phil Rushington, success- 
ful and gaining in popularity, was more than he could 
bear. It made him intensely anxious to do something — 
anything — to pull his more generous rival down. 

“That’s just the thing, Drex,” he exclaimed. “I had 
foolish ideas then about what I called honor. Now I 
know that the people who win simply do so by getting the 
best of others in the race, and everything that will fetch 
that result about is fair.” 

“Of course it is,” smiled the other, indifferently, as 
though he was thinking of something else. 

“Now, the thing is for me to put that Rushington in a 
hole in any way that I can. I tried to put up a job 
on him when he was in the town where I was stopping 
a little while ago, but the one that I relied on to put one 
part of the scheme through didn’t have the backbone to do 
his part of it when it came to the pinch. Now I want 
to know if you can’t help me on something that I have 
been thinking up.” 

“Depends what sort of a scheme it is that you have been 
hatching.” 

“Would you help in a scheme of any kind?” 

“Yes, if there was anything in it for me.” 

Denton stared. Then he remembered that he had the 
reputation of being wealthy ; that, while he was at Spring- 
vale he had one or two bought friends; and it dawned 
upon him that Drexel was merely waiting for a bid for his 
services. 

At first the idea did not strike Denton very ^happily. 


The Plotters. 


189 


But upon second thought it occurred to him that there 
was no better way in the world for getting what one 
wanted than that of using money to buy it with. 

It appeared now that Drexel could be bought; and he 
knew that Drexel was an uncommonly shrewd young man. 
It followed that Mr. Drexel would be a profitable invest- 
ment if he would only lay himself out to assist in getting 
a revenge on Phil Rushington. 

“I’ll see what he can hatch up for a scheme, and I would 
be willing to ^do something handsome if I could see 
Rushington so completely thrown down that he would 
never want to see the inside of a circus tent again, either 
his own or anybody’s.” 

This was Denton’s thought as he eyed the face of 
Drexel, who was still smoking unconcernedly. Yet for 
the moment he was not quite sure that it would be safe 
to make the proposition. 

Denton did not have such a high sense of morality, 
however, that he saw reason for great scruples on the part 
of Drexel, provided the money considerations were large 
enough. 

“Do you mean, Drex, that you would be willing to help 
me to do. .1 that upstart if there was some money in the 
afifair for you?” 

“It would depend upon how much was ofiPered.” 

“If it was a snug sum, cash down as soon as the trick 
was played.” 

“You may just about name your own price.” 

“All right. I won’t be over-modest, Dent. A fellow 


190 


The Plotters. 


like you needs to have somebody to help spend the interest 
on your fortune. An idea occurs to me this minute.’^ 
Their heads went together, and they whispered back 
and forth. And the face of Denton lighted with malicious 
joy. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


THE INSULT TO EONA. 

Isabel did not appear in the street parade. But from 
that she was not so much missed as she would be in the 
performance in the tent, for there was no more spirited 
and popular circus rider in the country than was the star 
of the Rushington show. 

But Phil did not take the matter so much to heart as 
he would have done before, for he was in that mood in 
which he felt that the absence of a single feature of his 
show need not mar it or his prospects to a desperate 
extent. 

'Tt will do her good to find that she is not absolutely 
necessary to this outfit,’' was the thought of Rushington. 

At the same time he felt like giving her a lesson to 
pay for her fickleness and her seeming willingness to 
annoy him. 

/ ‘‘What are you going to do without your star?” ques- 
tioned Grout, as the tent began to fill for the afternoon 
performance. 

“Mamie and Eona will fill the time, and the people 
will be quite as well entertained. Not many will think 
of her absence from the show, and the few who do will 
take it for granted that she was ill or some such cause 
kept her out at the last moment. There might be plenty 
of reasons which we could not give publicly.” 


192 


The Insult to Eona. 


"^Some are always ready to talk about it, just the same. 
Folks are so afraid of being cheated.” 

'They will have to have their growl, then. I am not 
going to oifer the girl a big bribe to appear, when that 
Is what she is bound to do for her regular salary. It 
would be a bad precedent, and might make trouble in the 
future.” 

"That's so, that’s so, Mr. Rushington. There seems to 
be no way out of it. I suppose you will discharge Isabel 
for this trick?” 

"I have not thought about what I shall do. Haven’t 
had time. We will give the people their money’s worth 
and something over, and no harm will be done by the 
absence of one rider from the ring.” 

Rushington wondered not a little what had become of 
Isabel. He caught not so much as a glimpse of her dur- 
ing the street parade, but he half expected to find her in 
the dressing-room when they got back to the grounds. 
But he saw nothing of her then, and no one of whom 
he inquired had seen her. 

After the exchange of words with Grout just quoted, 
Phil went outside once more, in the half hope that Isabel 
might return at the last moment, in regret for the rash 
step which she had taken. 

As he passed to the rear of the tent he heard a low out- 
cry in a voice that he recognized as that of Eona. Then 
he heard a masculine voice say: 

"Don’t get cranky at a fellow, little girl ! What is the 
matter with our waltzing here on the green, under the 


The Insult to Eona. 193 

light of the sky? Such a graceful girl as you are could 
waltz like a top, I know !” 

“Let go of me !” cried Eona, pantingly. 

Phil could see that she was struggling to escape from 
the other who had spoken. At first Phil was not sure 
whether it were better to interfere at that stage or not. 
He did not know but the girl might be really responsible 
for the conduct of her assailant, and if that were the 
case, it would do no harm to let her get thoroughly fright- 
ened. But it soon became evident that she was striving 
with all her strength to release herself from his grasp, 
but that he was holding on like grim death. 

This was enough for Phil Rushington to see and hear. 
He reached them at a bound, seized the man by the 
shoulder and whirled him about so that he obtained a 
full view of his face. Then a name broke from his lips : 

“Louis Denton!” 

Spat! sounded Denton’s hand on Rushington’s cheek, 
and the blow was so severe that the young showman stag- 
gered under it. 

The blow came unexpectedly, and the pain of it sent the 
hot blood leaping through Phil’s veins. The terrible 
muscles in his wonderful arms tingled, and in that mo- 
ment Louis Denton was in more danger than he had ever 
been before in his life. The grasp of the young show- 
man tightened on him, and he writhed in a vain attempt 
to get free from it. 

Eona was released. She stood back, panting with ex- 
citement and her own exertions. She saw the two young 
men struggling and she watched them with glowing eyes. 


194 


The Insult to Eona. 


At the same time a fourth person appeared on the scene 
and stood taking it in. That was Walt. 

“Let go! let go!” gasped Denton. 

Phil did not speak, but he loosened his grip on the other 
youth. Then the latter was suddenly thrown headlong, 
with such force that he fell at full length on the ground 
twelve feet away. For a moment he lay there without 
moving; then he arose and shambled away into the 
shadows of a clump of trees. 

Phil stood staring after the ruffianly youth in a dazed 
sort of way until aroused by the voice of Eona and the 
touch of Eona’s hand. 

“He was a young brute, and he had been drinking, and 
you served him right !” she said. 

“It was Louis Denton !” repeated Phil, as if he had not 
gotten over the surprise that the discovery brought to 
him. 

“Then you know him?” 

“He is an old foe of mine ; but never mind. What did 
he want of you, Eona?” 

“You must have heard what he said as you came up. 
He is one of the sort who think they can make as free 
as they like with a circus rider. I saw him while I was 
riding in the street parade, and he ogled me then, but I 
took not the slightest notice of him.” 

“Did you ever see him before?” 

“Never to my knowledge.” 

Rushington was satisfied that it was not through any 
lack of maidenly discretion on the part of Eona that the 
rudeness had been committed, for he well understood that 


The Insult to Eona. 


195 

it was sometimes through the fault of the young woman 
that rudeness came from a ruffian or a boor. 

“Things seem to be conspiring to annoy me to-day,” 
said Phil. 

“Then this isn’t the first bother that you have had? 
And yet it seemed to be little trouble to you to throw that 
fellow out of the way. I never saw a seemingly muscular 
young man handled so easily by another.” 

“My arms are rather strong,” said Rushington, quietly. 

“I should think so. And it seems that you have seen 
that young man before.” 

“He was the one who annoyed me in the town where 
I first saw you with the rival circus from which I hired 
you. But probably you did not notice him then.” 

“I do not remember ever having seen him before, un- 
less I may have done so in a crowd. I see so many 
faces in that way that I get them mixed up in my memory 
with others whom I have met in a more intimate way. 
But I am sure that I never before spoke to this Mr. 
Denton.” 

“I have nothing to say about him. You have learned 
enough of him to-day, and I hope you will never have to 
speak to him again. I am glad I was at hand to throw 
him out of your way.” 

“And how easy you did it ! As if he were a stick !” 

“And he is a stick !” muttered Phil. 

When the afternoon performance was in full blast Phil, 
as usual, rode into the ring. It had been his custom in the 
past to go in with Isabel, his star. But as she was not 
there, he accompanied Eona instead. 


196 


The Insult to Eona. 


Eona knew that this was his intention, and there was 
at least one observer who watched her face closely as she 
rode into the arena. That was Walt Arkwright. For 
several days he had been observing this somewhat mys- 
terious young woman, when she was with Phil Rushing- 
ton, with the keenest interest. 

She was usually somewhat languid in her movements, 
and if she felt a keen interest in anything or anybody she 
had the faculty of concealing the fact. Yet Walt had 
noticed something, and it was for that something that he 
was now watching so alertly. 

There were two others in the audience who observed 
Phil Rushington with an interest which was curious 
rather than friendly. They were Louis Denton and Mr. 
Drexel. 

Denton managed to get a seat where he could observe 
without being too much observed. Drexel acted as a 
shield for his companion, for the latter preferred that 
Rushington should not know of his presence. 

Nothing had been said to Eona about the cause of the 
absence of Isabel from the ring. Indeed, no one could 
have given her anything more than a conjecture in the 
place of a reason. 

But as she rode into the ring there was a new light 
in the eyes of the strange girl, and a brighter flush in her 
cheeks than Walt Arkwright had ever seen there before. 
That was not all. There was a new dash in the style of 
her riding, which in some degree resembled that of Isabel, 
although there was added to it the subtle grace and charm 


The Insult to Eona. 


197 

which belonged to no one in the world except Eona 
herself. 

Rushington was unconscious of this. But there was 
something else of which he gradually became conscious. 
That was the fact that Walt Arkwright was among the 
spectators instead of attending to certain duties which 
were usually intrusted to him alone. That was not all. 
On one side of him sat Lena Thurber, a former student of 
the Normal School on Lake Adineo. And beside Lena, 
and apparently trying to hide her bright face behind the 
Normal School graduate and Walt, was a third person, of 
whom the young circus owner obtained for some time only 
the slightest glimpse. 

Phil was riding swiftly and in his “Buffalo Bill style,” 
and there was a girl at his side who was eliciting rounds 
of applause by the daring and charm of her evolutions. 
They could not very well take note of all the people in 
the seats, and Rushington had not nearly so much in- 
terest in them as he had the first time he had appeared 
before the public in that way. 

Faster sped the riders. Rushington was not riding the 
horse which he usually mounted, as that animal was suf- 
fering from a slight injury to a forefoot which rendered 
it imprudent to use him for a few days. The horse he 
was riding was less graceful and handsome than his 
favorite, but he was speedier, and so the ride with Eona 
wound up with a race around the ring which became an 
actual trial of speed. 

While they were racing, Denton was talking in a low 
tone with Drexel. 


198 The Insult to Eona. 

‘‘See the fellow show off, will you!’^ the youth ex- 
claimed. 

“He does it pretty well, anyhow, and I like a good 
horse race any day in the week.” 

“But he is no fancy rider, and what is the use of his 
spreading himself all over the tent just because it hap- 
pens to be his show?” 

“Didn’t you hear those girls just in front of us asking 
just now if Phil Rushington, the proprietor of the show, 
wasn’t going to ride in the ring?” 

“Yes, I heard them.” 

“Well, I heard more than a dozen others ask the same 
question a little while ago. And I have heard a number 
speak of his riding in the parade. Didn’t you?” 

“Yes, the crowd seemed to be stuck on Rushington as 
bad as they always are on Buffalo Bill. I have been to 
his show twice, and each time the whole crowd yelled 
itself hoarse every time Bill showed himself and bowed 
to them, in his princely style. But then, Cody has a repu- 
tation back of it all, and what has this fellow back of 
him?” 

“Don’t know,” muttered Drexel. 

“Have you thought anything about the suggestion I 
made this morning ?” 

“A little.” 

“Got any plan?” 

“Small one.” 

“Good! What is it?” 

“Can’t be told here.” 


Tlie Insult to Eona. 


199 

“Well, if anything is to be done, it ought to be done 
now. There is only one more performance to-day.” 

“I know it.” 

“Weren’t you going to put it through here?” 

“Yes.” 

“Seems to me you’re mighty short with your words. 
Why can’t you say what you have been planning?” 

“Denton, will you have the kindness to shut up?” 
drawled Drexel, turning so as to look the other fairly in 
the face. 

“Of course, Drex. I didn’t think of the possibility of 
being overheard here. Excuse me.” 

“Next time I go into a show with you, Denton, I will 
make sure that you have drunk nothing stronger than 
spring water, before I stir a yard with you. Such in- 
fernal chatter I never heard before. Now keep your 
mouth shut. There will be another performance to-night, 
and if they carry out the same programme to-night some- 
thing will drop. Does that suit?” 

“That suits!” said Denton. And both relapsed into 
silence. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


A SURPRISE FOR PHIL. 

As Phil Rushington and his companion raced more and 
more swiftly around the ring, Phil noticed that a sort of 
canopy had been suspended over the center of the arena, 
at a height barely sufficient to be cleared by the higiier 
moving objects which would have to pass underneath it. 
Why it had been put there he did not know; but there 
were, of course, many details of the ring performance 
with which he had little to do directly, those matters be- 
ing intrusted to Grout, the ringmaster. 

The canopy was of canvas, draped with silk and span- 
gles. Access to the top of this canopy — or, rather, to the 
space which was screened from the view of the people 
underneath or in other parts of the tent, by the canvas — 
was afforded by a short rope ladder, and, while the race 
around the ring was at its maddest and most exciting 
stage, two persons who had been in the reserved chairs 
near the exit, slipped out across that section of the arena 
and ascended to the space over the canopy. 

Phil did not see them, and of the canopy or the probable 
use to which it might be put he gave little thought. The 
band was crashing, and underneath him a powerful horse 
arose and fell with an ever accelerating rhythm. Two 
clowns, one on a donkey, the other mounting a racka- 
bones horse, were also racing on the inner side of the track, 
in grotesque mimicry of Rushington and his beautiful 


201 


A Surprise for Phil. 

rider ; and at the same time two acrobats were performing 
some dizzy evolutions in the ring. 

It was one of those moments when, according to the 
young manager’s directions, as many things were being 
done at once as could possibly be handled in the single 
arena. This gave an impression of there being an abun- 
dance of attractions, instead of a dearth to be strung out, 
one at a time, until the audience fell asleep, after the 
fashion dl some small shows. 

So the attention of everybody was absorbed, Rush- 
ington’s included, and it was easy for the persons to as- 
cend to the space above the canopy unnoticed. 

Eona finished her “act” amid a burst of applause, and 
other “regulation acts” were gone through with, -and 
Eona dashed from the ring. Rushington made another 
circuit at a leisurely pace, bowing to the people in his 
princely fashion. At the same time the band ceased its 
clamor, and for the moment it looked as if there was going 
to be a wait before other performers came into the arena. 

But, in the silent lull, the clowns were seen to fall from 
their steeds, and the latter raced alone back to the horse 
tent. Then, as the ringmaster made a sign to command 
attention, the people on the seats all bent their gaze upon 
the canopy toward which Grout pointed in an impressive 
manner with his whip. 

At that moment from above the canopy there issued 
the soft, throbbing notes of a harp, played with a skill 
that was perfect. And Phil Rushington was seen to wheel 
his horse with an appearance of surprise which was not 


202 A Surprise for Phil. 

feigned, whatever the ordinary observers may have 
thought of it. 

The softer music, in such striking contrast to that of 
the big circus band, commanded the closest attention. 
Besides, it was so unusual in a show of that kind that 
the people watched and listened with a curiosity and ex- 
pectancy, for they could not even conjecture what was to 
follow. ' 

The harp played a strain from a new and singular 
melody, of the sort that will linger in the memory of the 
hearer like a dream. Then from the same hidden spot 
came the words of a song, sung by a trio, and whose 
voices Phil would have recognized had he been able to 
credit the testimony of his own ears. 

One of the voices he was sure of — it was that of Mamie. 
And the other two, one a tenor of marvelous sweetness 
and power, the other a deep contralto the like of which 
he had never before heard save from one person. And 
that one was But, no, it could not be Dora War- 

ren, the poet of the Normal School on Lake Adineo! 

The song was a new but popular one, and it was ex- 
quisitely done. Then followed another, of a semi-humor- 
ous kind, and then, as the crowd began to clamor for 
more, a new song was given — one that had never been 
heard by any ears that were there. The words of it, 
sentimental though they were, yet met with responsive 
sympathy in the hearts of many who would have been 
reluctant to confess the fact. And, as they were sung. 


A Surprise for Phil. 203 

they are given here, omitting only the repetitions, which 
served as a sort of chorus : 

“Often am I lost in dreaming 
That two starlight eyes are beaming, 

Worth and truth above all seeming, 

Into mine. 

“Sometimes laughter in them dancing, 

Under silken lashes glancing. 

Then our lips together chancing — 

Touch divine! 

“Trustful heart in transport beating. 

Priceless moments sweetly fleeting, 

Whispered pledges her entreating. 

Soft and low. 

“Swift two arms around me twining, 

Love-lit face to me inclining, 

‘Eyes of truth’ through teardrops shining — 

Then I know!” 

First there was a silence, broken only by the throbbing 
postlude of the harp; then there came a roar from the 
seats, from the hundreds of young people, whose quick 
sympathies were ready to respond to the love sentiment, 
whether in song or story. 

There was no time then for explanations, for there 
were other acts to be done. Phil saw Walt and Lena 
Thurber talking and laughing while they looked at him. 
He raced into the horse tent, and all the while he kept an 
eye on the canopy, in the hope of obtaining a glimpse of 
the singers. 

He had to be out of the tent for a period of but a little 
longer than a minute’s duration ; yet that was sufficient for 
two of the singers to descend and hurry back among the 


204 


A Surprise for Phil. 


seats, and so out of Phil Rushington’s sight. Who they 
were he therefore could only guess ; and where they were 
it was not easy to discover in the crowded tent, for there 
was hardly an unoccupied seat. 

It was in vain that he tried to get a chance to speak to 
Walt and Lena before the end of the performance. Then 
they slipped out, and when he looked for them only Walt 
was to be found. 

“Come, old man, I want to know the meaning of this 
said our hero, when the big crowd was dwindling, and 
the band sent after it a parting crash of sounds. 

“The meaning of what?” queried Walt, innocently. 

“You know what I mean — that singing act. Is Dora 
Warren here with Lena Thurber ?” 

“Can’t say,” returned Walt. 

“Don’t you know ?” 

“I know a lot of things that I can’t say, and I think a 
lot more that I haven’t the language to express.” 

“Don’t put up that sort of a bluff, Walt. If Dora is 
here I want to see her.” 

“You know what is a young lady’s privilege, don’t 
you?” 

“What do you mean ?” 

“She isn’t obliged to see even the manager of a big 
show if she prefers not.” 

“If that is her preference, of course. But you have no 
business to put me off in this way. That singing was a 
pretty thing, and it reminded me of the affair on the 
stage when Dora and Winnie Reynolds came out and 
sang that song of my composition so sweetly that I hardly 


A Surprise for Phil. 


205 


recognized it. I am sure that was Dora’s voice. And 
Mamie was there, I am sure, also, although she wouldn’t 
give me a glimpse of her since her last riding act. There 
seems to be a conspiracy in this,yand I want to get at 
the meaning of it.” 

“You will find, old man, that there are some things in 
the world with which girls are connected that you will 
never fairly get the meaning of.” 

“You talk like a wise old patriarch, Walt. But never 
mind. I won’t fish any more this time, but wait for the 
truth to come out, as it is bound to do if I am only patient. 
How about the tenor who sang with them? You can’t 
sing.” 

“I can sing like a crow, and for the same caws,” 
chuckled Arkwright. 

“You are trying to get funny, and you don’t want to 
do it, in business hours, for I’m not to be trifled with.” 

“The tenor, like the contralto, or the trioalto and the 
comeupto, is an unknown quality and an immense quan- 
tity, Rush, and ^o\x don’t want to be trying to search the 
inscrutable. To change the topic — ^had a tent full of 
people to-day?” 

“Yes, a big crowd. And, being right among them, you 
ought to know whether or not they were satisfied.” 

“Not a whisper of dissatisfaction was expressed, and I 
heard a lot of the other kind. Oh, you have got a good 
show, and you have found the knack of pleasing. It is 
queer — I can’t understand it — but a kind of personal 
popularity seems to follow you about, so that the same 


2o6 


A Surprise for Phil. 


things, coming from you, please, while from others the 
public would be indifferent, or even inclined to criticise/^ 

“That is gammon, Walt, no matter what your opinion 
may be. I am a stranger to almost every individual in the 
crowd which was here to-day, and a stranger doesn’t get 
to be the pet of anybody in a moment. A fellow doesn’t 
want to bank on those chances, either, unless he wants to 
get left. The thing is to deal honestly with the public, to 
practice not the slightest deception of any kind, and then 
you will gradually get friends in business of the solidest 
kind.” 

“A good maxim, old man.” 

Phil returned to the hotel. There he was met by Mr. 
Drexel, who said : 

“Come, Mr. Rushington, I have ordered a dinner to be 
served to us privately. Just to save time, as I had some- 
thing to say.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

PHILOS TEMPTATION. 

Mr. Drexel, with his silk hat on one table, sat with Phil 
at another table. It was in Drexel’s room in the hotel, 
and the hour was a little past six o’clock in the afternoon. 

The room was the best in the house, although that 
was not saying a great deal. On the table there was also 
the best of fare that the house could afford, and that is 
saying something, for the cook and the waiter knew their 
business, considering the size of the place. 

Drexel had ordered the feast, and, as a matter of 
course, wine had been brought. Drexel filled the glasses 
while he talked — or, rather, while he told the most laugh- 
able story that Rushington had ever heard. 

It was not a bad story — nothing to offend a clean- 
minded youth — and our hero roared over it without even 
a pang of self-reproach. Then Phil told one which was 
nearly as good, and Drexel took his turn at a laugh. So 
far Phil had not touched the glass at the side of his plate. 
He did not do so until the dessert was brought, although 
Drexel had emptied and refilled his. 

As yet it had not become clear what the particular busi- 
ness was which had prompted Drexel to appoint the in- 
terview. But Phil did not wonder at it, for he was well 
entertained, and he was in no haste to end the meeting. 
Indeed, Phil told himself more than once that a fellow 
could learn more in ten minutes in the society of such a 


2o8 


PhiVs Temptation. 


man as Drexel than he could in a week with the ordinary 
run of men and boys. 

When he first saw the wine brought in, Phil decided 
not to touch it. He felt as if it was a good time to show 
the strength of his principles. Then it occurred to him 
that Drexel was a gentleman, and that he would not un- 
derstand a mere squeamishness in the matter of tem- 
perance. 

‘T won’t make him think I am a crank, that thinks just 
a glass of light wine is a deadly poison. I wouldn’t stand 
up at a bar and drink with the President of the United 
States, but this is altogether different. It is no worse than 
a cup of strong coffee.” 

This was the argument that Rushington made to him- 
self, and he did not realize that it was the same plausible 
old excuse with which every young fellow — or old fel- 
low, for that matter — surrenders a principle. Conse- 
quently, without appearing to give the matter any thought, 
Phil sipped the wine until the glass was nearly empty. 

While the glass was still at his lips there was a light 
knock on the door, and then the latter was opened and 
a man strode into the room and paused in the middle of 
it, with a stare at Phil. Then, as Phil half rose to his 
feet, a sudden flush mantling his cheeks, a sudden quiver 
about his lips, this man who had entered sprang toward 
him, seized the glass and flung it with a crash against the 
wall. 

The next moment he had Phil Rushington by the hand, 
holding on with a tightness which was friendly, and with 
a kind look in his kind eyes. 


209 


PHiPs Temptation. 

“John Grayson !” cried the young circus owner. 

“Yes, boy. And do you mind saying what you were 
doing just now ? Why, look at this !” 

Out went Grayson’s hand again, and this time it seized 
the bottle of wine and flung it through the open window. 
They heard it strike in the narrow court below. 

“Any more of the stuff around?” he asked, with his 
rare smile, which rendered his face so singularly hand- 
some. 

Drexel sprang to his feet, and for the moment Phil 
was speechless. 

“What is the meaning of this rudeness ? I would have 
you understand, sir, that my money pays for those things !” 
cried Drexel, his voice quivering with a passion which 
he could not restrain, notwithstanding the gentlemanly 
self-control which he was trained to exercise. 

“My money will pay you for them, my friend,” smiled 
Grayson. And as the words passed his lips he put down 
a bank note of a value to pay for a bottle of costlier wine 
than the one which had been sacrificed. And that was all 
the notice he took of Drexel, whom he seemed to have 
sized up at a glance. 

“If you gentlemen had private business together,” 
Grayson went on, “I beg pardon for intruding. Other- 
wise I wish, Phil, that you could come out with me for a 
little walk. Didn’t dream that I was in town, did you, 
old man?” 

“Not a dream,” Phil heard himself saying. Then he 
added, with a glance at Drexel : 

“You said you had some business with me, but it has 


210 


Phirs Temptation. 


not been mentioned, and as I have but little more time, 
perhaps you had better excuse me until after the show 
this evening. Then, if it is important, you will have a 
chance to mention it somewhere before my train goes.’’ 

“It isn’t important — now!” snapped Drexel, forgetting 
his self-possession entirely. 

“He’ll excuse you, I guess,” smiled Grayson. And as 
he and Phil went out they heard some language from the 
lips of the traveling man which was not polite. 

John Grayson had been a former classmate of Phil 
Rushington’s at Springvale Academy. He was now about 
forty-two years old, having begun an academic course at 
forty with the idea of taking up one of the learned profes- 
sions in a most thorough manner. He had spent many 
years as the advertising manager in that department of a 
great railroad, and had received a large salary. 

Unfortunately, he had acquired dissipated habits, and 
his business kept him under temptations of many kinds. 
While he had much ability, a fine mind, a nature which 
was even religious, and a heart which was as gentle as 
that of the kindest of women, yet he was thrown down by 
his inablity to be temperate. 

It is not the vicious alone who acquire habits and dissi- 
pation. Some of the most capable and liable men go out 
of the race from that cause — and more is the pity. 

Since losing his position, he had pulled himself to- 
gether, as he expressed it, and he was the hardest stu- 
dent in the academy. He was now ready for college, and 
intended to take a full course, with a professional course 
on the end of it. He would be well toward fifty when he 


PhiPs Temptation. 


2II 


reached the beginning of life in the new profession; but 
there could be little doubt that a man who would have the 
nerve to put it through at that time would make more 
than an ordinary degree of success of. it when he got to the 
work itself. 

He was a brave fellow. His only habits now were those 
of thrift, diligence in study, and smoking a pipe. The 
last he would indulge; and he could give a very good 
argument in support of the wisdom of it — for him. He 
had not a friend who would have deprived him of it. 

Phil Rushington loved him like a brother, and with the 
best of reasons. 

It was no wonder, after all the talks which they had 
had together, that John Grayson had been shocked to see 
our hero with a glass of light wine to his lips. 

As they went out on the street together, Phil was silent. 
Yet he did not expect any lecture from his friend. And 
in this he was not disappointed. Grayson’s prompt action 
on entering the room and his evident feeling of contempt 
for Drexel told the story, and that was enough. 

“And you didn’t dream that I was in this town,” Gray 
— as his friends called him — repeated, as he puffed hard 
at his pipe. 

“No. But — look here ! Yours was the tenor voice that 
sang with Dora Warren and Mamie on top of the canopy 
in my tent this afternoon?” 

“I was the tenor,” laughed Gray. 

“I was stupid not to know it.” 

“Yoc w^uld have been brighter than I should have ex- 
pected if you had recognize^ the voice under the circum- 


212 Phirs Temptation. 

stances. It was a high-handed trick, I will own ; but Miss 
Warren suggested it, and I had to fall in to keep peace. 
It would have been pretty but for the tenor.” 

“It was immense, tenor and all, and you know it. It 
caught the crowd. Consider yourself under engagement 
at a liberal salary to do that thing every day between 
Sundays until the end of the circus season.” 

“Talk to Miss Warren about that, but count me out. I 
have other work to do, as you know. Have you seen her 
yet?” 

“Dora, you mean?” 

“Yes.” 

“No, for she has kept out of my way like a thief.” 

“She would have kept out of your way as if you were 
the thief if she had seen you just now, or if she knew 
about it.” 

“Don’t, Gray !” 

Phil’s voice shook, and for a minute they walked on in 
silence. Then Grayson said, in his kindest tones : 

“The wine was nothing, or would have been nothing 
to some young fellows. But it was a breach of principle 
with you, and that is a good deal. Even that much would 
throw me into the rapids. I don’t ask you to let it alone ; 
youi can exercise your own judgment on that score, and 
I think you will be all right. But it is a tough test on a 
man to prosper too swiftly. Don’t I know it?” 

“You know it; Gray. I’ll never touch it again.” 

“Make, no pledges — I haven’t, and if I did it would be 
like me to break them all the same day. A steady keeping 
along in a straight line, recognizing and steering clear of 


PhiPs Temptation. 


213 


a bad hole when you see one, is better, for me, at any 
rate. Some may do better under a pledge. If any find 
that to be the way for them, then let them take one and 
stick. But let’s talk of something else. I have a week or 
so off, for I am a little out of health, and perhaps I’ll tag 
you around and do some of your coarse work for you if 
you like.” 

^^Sure, and more than that. If you’ll sing as you did 
to-day. I’ll pay you a salary.” 

“Talk with Miss Dora.” 

“How will I see her?” 

“I will arrange an interview.” 

The young circus owner looked keenly into the eyes of 
his friend. 

“Why don’t she see me herself ?” 

“There are reasons. I will explain them, as she wished 
me to do. In the first place, how do matters stand be- 
tween you and Isabel, your star rider?” 

“She got angry to-day about something and wouldn’t 
ride.” 

“Don’t you know what was the matter ?” 

“No.” 

“She knew Dora Warren was here, and she suspected 
something else.” 

“Who told her?” 

“Walt.” 

“That explains nothing.” 

“You are growing stupid, Phil, if you will pardon my 
saying so. Miss Isabel is jealous.” 

“Bah !” 


214 


PHiPs Temptation. 


“I want to know if there is anything between you — of 
a sentimental sort, I mean. You aren’t afraid to answer 
such a personal question, are you?” 

^^We have been good friends, and that is about all there 
is between me and anybody else. Dora and I are a shade 
more than that, maybe.” 

“That is the truth. Rush, and the whole of it?” 

“The truth and the whole of it so far as Isabel goes. 
I have been puzzled by her behavior more than once, and 
there have been times when I have distrusted her. She 
has a jealous disposition, yet in most ways she is a charm- 
ing girl. I like her, and that is all.” 

“All right, Phil. Now, then, for the part of the bus- 
iness that Miss Warren wished me to broach to you. She 
has written to you, hasn’t she?” 

“Occasionally.” 

“Well, then, listeir.” 

And John Grayson told our hero what Dora had not 
had the courage to tell him. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


A BLACK SCHEME. 

Judge Warren, the father of Dora, was out of health, 
and at the same time he had met with money losses which 
threatened to throw them out of their home. 

Dora had graduated from the Normal School, and was 
fitted for a teacher ; but she found the work trying to her 
and in many ways so distasteful that she wished to do 
something else, for a time at least. 

Her success in Phil Rushington’s dramatic company a 
short time before had put the fever into her veins for that 
kind of life. She had an idea that Phil might suggest 
something for her in that line, which she might do even 
in the summer season, and it had even occurred to her 
that she might be of some use to him in the circus. Dora, 
with all of her intimacy with Phil, was sensitive about 
telling him of her situation, and of her wishes in respect 
to his business. So she had a talk with Gray about it, and 
Gray decided to put the matter to their friend. The little 
surprise of their singing over the canopy was a suggestion 
of Dora’s. 

'‘Now,” said Gray, in conclusion, "one of her reasons 
for not wanting to broach this subject to you was that 
she was afraid that you would create an opening for her, 
whether you need her or not. Then, too, she probably 
thought that you might suspect that she wanted to be with 
you. That part of it you may set down as so, to just 


2i6 


A Black Sckeme. 


this extent : She would not join a traveling show of any 
sort with a stranger, and her parents would not hear of 
her doing so. But she would play in a settled organiza- 
tion of the right sort. Do you see the point?” 

“I see it all. And I will act just as I know she would 
have me under the circumstances. I confess that I don’t 
like the idea of having Dora Warren join a circus.” 

“So you think she is better than Isabel?” 

“There is a difference. Isabel was almost born in it.” 

“Yes.” 

“And she comes of a different kind of a family.” 

“Probably.” 

“I shouldn’t think Dora’s father would listen to it, 
anyway.” 

“To tell the truth, the judge is a little unsettled in his 
mind.” ^ 

“Ah! that is bad. And they are in a tight place, you 
say ?” 

“Yes, worse off than is generally supposed.” 

“Poor little Dora !” 

“Don’t say that in her hearing, for she won’t endure to 
be pitied.” 

“That’s so. Well, I will see what can be done. I meant 
what I said about that musical feature, as you did it 
this afternoon. With a good tenor to go with them, I 
think the feature would be a taking one, with some of 
the ring performance going on at the same time. It is 
better than to have that band roaring all the time until 
everybody feels like committing suicide.” 

“It would do for a while. And there ought to be some 


A Black Scheme. 


217 

work to do for you in the writing — the work of a secre- 
tary or stenographer. I suggested that to her.” 

“I need help of that kind, and frequently hire some 
one temporarily when I am in a place where I can.” 

“Well, then. She will wish to listen to your objections 
as to the matter of the good taste or her joining a circus 
troupe. You know the sort of a girl she is.” 

“Pure gold !” murmured Phil, softly. 

“That’s right, old man. And, say, hadn’t you better 
arrange this matter for her, for the time, anyway ? There 
seemed to be no way of dissuading her from it without 
hurting her, and, to tell the truth, she is broken up over 
affairs at home. Think it over, and be the straight-out, 
sterling fellow that you were born to be !” 

They were walking along a shady street, and the lights 
were far apart. Phil paused and took Gray by the hand. 

“That was an awfully good thing for you to say!” he 
exclaimed. 

“But it is true.” 

“You could convince me of it if anybody could. And 
you are pure gold. Gray, whether you were ever told so or 
not. I wish I could have you with me all the time.” 

“But you can’t, you know.” 

“I’ll manage this for Dora, and there shall be no hu- 
miliation for her, and no talk made out of it, and every- 
thing will be all right. Now, about yourself. How are 
you getting on with your studies?” 

“I grind hard and fast.” 

“Happy?” 

“Every man is, after a fashion, when he is busy.” 


2i8 


A Black Scheme. 


“That’s right. But you had the blues frequently when 
you were at Springvale.” 

“I am better now, for I work yet harder.” 

Phil looked at his watch. 

“Great Caesar ! I must make a break for the grounds. 
You and Dora will sing over the canopy to-night, and 
I will see her after the performance, if she is bound to 
keep so shy of me before then.” 

“All right.” 

On the grounds where the exhibtion tents were pitched 
another scene was enacted at about the same time that the 
talk between Rushington and his friend was going on. 

Drexel and Denton were there together, lying under a 
tree where the shadows of the twilight hung thickest. 
Earlier in the day Denton alone had been the one who 
was anxious to take revenge on Phil Rushington. But 
now Drexel was as bitter as was his companion. 

“My plan, as proposed to you, would not work, be- 
cause that fellow from Springvale with the Vandyke 
beard, who is trying to brace up in his old age, stepped in 
at the wrong moment and meddled. I would like to see 
him smashed.” 

“I want Rushington smashed !” said Denton, fiercely. 

“I have another plan. But it will have to be worked 
at the right moment.” 

“What is it?” 

“And we will have to get at the horse that Rushington 
will ride to-night.” 

“That can be done.” 

“How?” 


A Black Scheme. 


219 


“I know the fellow who has the care of the horses in 
the horse tent. He will have to be careful, but he has 
done a thing or two for me before. He let the lion out of 
the cage for me at one place, and that came near costing 
Rushington a small fortune. 

“That was rough ! But I don’t care now. That Gray- 
son was nasty to-day. The pair of them, with their airs, 
make me sick. Let me tell you of my idea. I have some- 
thing with which to dose the horse that the young man- 
ager will ride, and the result will be that the animal will 
go in a fit, or something resembling one. He cannot be 
managed, and he will have to be shot, as he will race 
blind, and as likely as not make for the rope and get in 
among the spectators.” 

“Good! that is the thing! And it may break Rush- 
ington’s neck.” 

“It will if he tries to hold on to him.” 

Just then the plotters heard a rustling sound near them, 
and Denton saw a feminine form start to run away from 
a point close to the tree under which they were reclining. 

Denton sprang up, and as he did so the fugitive stum- 
bled and fell. He caught up with her before she could 
rise, and a glance told him that she was Isabel. 

“You were spying !” hissed Denton. 

“Somebody ought to be ! you villain !” she exclaimed. 

“You will promise me not to give this affair away, or 
you will find yourself in hot water !” said Denton. 

“You think I will let you carry out that scheme to kill 
Phil Rushington?” she demanded. 


220 


A Black Scheme. 


‘'He doesn’t care a rap about you. He is stuck on that 
Normal School girl, and she is here to-day.” 

“I know that. But he has been kind to me — the truest 
friend I have in the world.” 

“You wouldn’t ride for him to-day.” 

“I was a fool not to do so. I will ride to-night if he will 
let me. And I will tell him of your plot to kill him.” 

“You will, eh?” 

“If I live !” 

“You won’t have the chance, then. I will see that you 
are kept where you can’t see him until it is too late.” 

Isabel would have uttered a scream for help then; but 
the hand of Denton was clapped tightly over her mouth, 
and held there until she was almost strangled. She strug- 
gled frantically, and Denton had rather more than he 
could manage. Drexel came up. 

“Lay hold of her, and get something into her mouth to 
stop her noise !” panted Denton. 

“I don’t like that business !” growled the other. 

“She will give us away if you don’t, whether you like it 
or not.” 

“She will do that, anyway.” 

“Stop her mouth, Drex, or I’ll know the reason why !” 

Denton was a fighter, and he was in a desperate frame 
of mind. Besides, Drexel wanted to carry out the scheme 
as much as the other did. So he took a handkerchief, 
and soon had Isabel effectually gagged. Then her hands 
were tied, and they marched her away under cover of the 
shadows to the edge of the woods, where they noticed 


A Black Sckeme. 221 

a small vacant shanty which had been used for a tool 
house. 

Into that she was thrust, and the door fastened on her. 
Then they went about carrying out the rest of their plot. 

The man who had charge of the performing horses was 
seen, and Denton’s money, with a little persuading, did the 
rest. Still, the plotters were far from being easy in their 
minds, as is usually the case with plotters. 

There seemed to be no doubt, however, that the man 
would do what was required of him. He had been with 
the circus for some time, and was in the same position 
when Phil Rushington came into possession of it. 

He was a naturally vicious person. He used horses 
well, but he seemed to have a hatred for men. More than 
once he had done an act of a petty and malicious sort, the 
reason for which was most obscure. 

He readily accepted the bribe as he had done in another 
case. He was not told what the effect of the drug was to 
be after it had been given to the horse_, and he did not 
care to know. But he was given to understand that it 
would make the animal fall and so spoil Rushington’s part 
in the performance, by giving him a humiliating tumble. 

The powder was put into a pail of water of which the 
horse drank just half an hour before Phil came into the 
horse tent for his mount. 

Eona was already in the ring, as were several acrobats, 
Barrows, the clown, and the ringmaster. And among 
the spectators were Lena Thurber and Dora Warren. It 
had been arranged that the latter would again sing with 


222 A Black Scheme. 

Mamie and John Grayson as they had done in the after- 
noon. 

“Jack seems a little nervous to-night/' said the groom, 
innocently, as he led the animal up for Phil to mount. 

“Hope he won’t have stage fright,” smiled Phil, as he 
gracefully leaped into the saddle. 

The horse shot out into the ring like an arrow from the 
bow. And before a single circuit of the ring was made 
Phil knew that something was wrong. 

“I’ll have to ride out !” he said to Eona, as they passed 
each other. 

Even as he spoke, the horse suddenly wheeled with a 
scream, as of terror and pain, and dashed straight across 
the arena. 

Rushington tried in vain to control or to guide the steed. 
Grout, the ringmaster, sprang toward them, for the ani- 
mal was making straight for the rope, just beyond which 
Dora Warren and Lena Thurber were sitting. 

The next moment a chorus of cries filled the air, for 
Phil’s horse, blind and crazed, had reached the rope. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


CAUGHT ! 

At that critical instant there were not many things that 
could be done. Indeed, there seemed to be only one that 
would be effective in season to keep the drug-crazed 
horse from crashing on to the seats, causing a panic, 
which was more to be feared than anything else, and kill- 
ing and maiming spectators at the same time. 

Besides, Rushington, in that wild moment, had a vision 
of Dora Warren bleeding- under the hoofs of the animal. 
It seemed like quick and certain death to her and the 
others who were closest to the rope. 

These were reserved seats, a few of which were taken 
on that side of the tent, and they were therefore close to 
the ground. 

As a precaution in case of the escape of one of the 
wild animals from a cage, Rushington carried a revolver. 
And this was now drawn with lightning quickness, and 
the muzzle thrust into the right ear of the horse. 

It was a forty-four caliber, and the loud report sounded 
like that of rifle in the tent, ringing out above all other 
sounds. 

The bullet crashed through the brain of the animal. 
It fell in its tracks, and for a moment its hoofs beat the 
air as Rushington leaped to the ground, flinging himself 
between the horse and the girls at the point of danger. 


224 


Caught ! 


It was a nervy thing to do, and the presence of mind 
displayed was comprehended by many in the crowd, and 
the moment they saw that the danger was over, the cries 
of terror were changed to cheers. The ringmaster, 
prompt to recognize the need of the moment, had already 
told the people in stentorian tones that there was no dan- 
ger. “Mr. Philip Rushington, the manager of this 
circus and hippodrome, may always be relied upon, ladies 
and gentlemen, to spare no risk in behalf of the safety of 
his patrons.’' 

In less time than it takes to tell it, the horse which had 
been shot was dragged from the tent. And in the midst 
of it all, Phil Rushington had two girls clinging to him, 
although one of them let go in the same breath. That 
was Dora. 

But Lena got hold of his hand, and she held on to it as 
if she was afraid he might sink through the earth if she 
were to release him for a moment. 

Just what was said on all sides of him Phil could 
hardly have told five minutes afterward. He knew that 
there was a great amount of cheering; that a good many 
strangers got hold of his hand and worked his arm up and 
down as if it were a pump handle; that they pulled and 
jostled him about, more like a fugitive criminal whom 
they wished to tear into pieces than like a man whom they 
were anxious to praise and to congratulate in every pos- 
sible way. 

Somehow, his friends managed to get him out of the 
tent ; then he heard the band crashing, and he knew that 


Caught! 225 

Eona and Mamie were doing some of their wildest riding 
in the ring to enchain the attention of the crowd. Indeed, 
it was a time when the ringmaster and assistant manager 
of the show did their best to fill every second of the time 
with the liveliest sorts of whirl — so much of it that the 
people must be fairly bewildered by it. 

They succeeded. Mamie, comprehending the need of 
the hour, invented several new tricks of horsemanship on 
the spur of the moment. She seemed to have suddenly 
gone as wild as had the horse which had been shot, only 
there was a method in her madness. 

She was all over her horse at the same time, springing 
off and on again while the animal was going at race-horse 
speed. The air was full of cheers, some of them still for 
the gallant young manager of the show, whom they clam- 
ored to see, and many for the girl riders who were doing 
everything in their power to divert attention. 

The acrobats were turning themselves into more shapes 
than they had thought themselves capable of assuming, 
and projecting themselves through the air as if they had 
been suddenly given wings. 

If all the performers could always have given such an 
exhibition as they did on the spur of the moment when 
Grout knew it was necessary to hold the crowd that day, 
the Rushington Circus and Hippodrome would have soon 
gained a reputation that would have led the whole country 
to clamor for a sight of it. 

Meanwhile, in one of the dressing-rooms, Phil was the 
center of a knot of his closest friends. Walt was not there. 


226 


Caught ! 


for he had to assist Grout in keeping the attractions of the 
arena succeeding each other. 

Grayson was there, but he had only touched the hand 
of Phil and managed to say : 

^‘Well done, boy !” 

Dora and Lena were the closest, and the former was 
saying, with more agitation than she often allowed her- 
self to show : 

“This circus is bound to be the death of you. Rushy, 
if you stay in it, unless you have somebody right at hand 
to take care of you ! What in the world could have made 
the horse take such a freak? Papa has always kept a 
number of horses, and I have been familiar with them 
ever since I was a child, and I never heard of such a 
thing.” 

‘Tt is something I don’t understand,” was all Phil could 
say. 

“Why couldn’t you guide the horse, Phil?” 

“He seemed to have gone blind, and to have lost all 
sense of the feeling of the bit. Every sense seemed to 
have gone. He was' either in a fit or — — ” 

Phil became suddenly silent, for a startling thought 
came to him as if somebody had suggested it to him in a 
whisper. 

“Why don’t you say the rest of it?” Dora and Grayson 
demanded in the same breath. 

“I don’t want to let out any of the wild notions that 
this business has set a going in my head.” 

“This is a select crowd, Phil, and it is a good time to 


Caught! 22 ^ 

say the worst things that you are likely to think, just to 
get rid of them,” said Gray. 

“Yes, yes, say it I” implored Lena. 

Just then Walt came in, and his usually mild face 
looked stern. 

“Barrows, the clown, told me that he studied to be a 
veterinary surgeon,” said Walt, “and he made an examina- 
tion of that horse just now. What do you suppose he 
says ?” 

“What does he say?” 

The query came sternly from Phil. 

“That the animal was drugged.” 

“How can he be sure ?” 

“The eyes of the horse indicate the effect of bella- 
donna, for one thing. About that he says there can be no 
mistake.” 

“Anything else?” 

“That is all he can be sure of without a more thorough 
examination.” 

“See that such an examination be made as soon as pos- 
sible, and — look here, Walt.” 

The latter stepped closer, so that Rush could speak in a 
low voice. 

“Have Curly, the groom, put under arrest at once. He 
must know what the horse ate or drank. If he intrusted 
any of his duties to somebody else he will be glad enough 
to say so.” 

Walt flew to execute the order. Then Phil said quietly 
to his companions : 


228 Caught! 

“In this business nothing can be allowed to interfere 
with the programme. This afternoon you did a pretty 
thing in that song behind the canopy over the arena, and 
if you will put it through now it will be the most appro- 
priate thing to quiet the excitement which is running 
rather high. And I will ride out on another horse and 
smirk and bow like an idiot, so they won’t think I am 
dead.” 

“Don’t strain after effect too hard, old fellow, or you 
may overdo it,” was Grayson’s suggestion. 

Lena shook her little fist in his face, and Dora put her 
tongue out at him, all in defense of Phil, who was too 
much of a hero just then for them to allow his fame and 
name to be trifled with. 

The arrest of Curly was made quietly. But he was not 
quiet about it. He broke down immediately, bursting into 
tears like a boy who has been caught in some mischief with 
the prospect of a whipping. 

Phil was sent for and he found the fellow crouching 
on the ground and rocking himself to and fro in an agony 
of terror. 

“What is the matter with you?” Phil demanded. 

“I — I wasn’t to blame!” groaned the man. 

“Yes, you were,” said Phil, so decisively that the man 
uncovered his face and stared at his accuser. 

“You don’t know ! You didn’t see anything,” he re- 
turned, confused by the positiveness of Rushington’s 
manner. 

“Something was seen, and you will have to face it, 
unless you are willing to tell who put you up to it.” 


Caught ! 


229 


The man shook as with an ague. 

For a moment he was silent, and Phil could see that 
he was debating with himself the chances of escape from 
consequences in case he should hazard the truth. 

His whole manner so plainly indicated his guilt, and the 
correctness of Phil’s surmise that the latter was sure that 
he was on the right tack. He went up to the man and 
looked fairly into his eyes. 

“Tell me who told you to give the drug to the horse. 
Curly, and I will let you off. You know you did it, and 
you know somebody’s money paid you for it.” 

“Yes, yes !” whined the man. He caught at the hand 
of Phil, and added: 

“Will you let me off?” 

“If you will make a clean breast of it here and now.” 

“I will, I will !” 

“Be quick about it, then.” 

“That young fellow gave it to me.” 

“Which young fellow? The one who was hanging 
around the ,tent this afternoon, and the same who had 
charge of the ground in the town where we had to 
make a fight to get the spot to put up the tent ?” 

“Yes, that was the one. Denton is his name. I don’t 
know why I did it. He paid me some money, but it seems 
as if I must have been out of my mind to do it. And, 
sure, I didn’t know how it was going to work. I only 
thought it might make you have to give up riding the 
horse. That was all.” 


230 


Caught ! 


“All right. You will have to be ret'iined as a witness 
against Denton, who gave you the drug.” 

“No, no!” 

“Yes, yes. And you will lose your job. That is all will 
happen to you, and that is putting it mild. Don’t expect 
anything lighter.” 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


PHIL AND DORA. 

Phil rode out again on another horse, and paid his 
respects to the crowd, which cheered itself hoarse. At 
the same time Dora, Mamie and John Grayson sang again 
as they had done in the afternoon, and they gave several 
new songs which were so “catchy” that half the people 
in the town were humming and whistling snatches from 
them the next day. The truth began to dawn upon “Phil 
at the same time, as he knew that Dora — the Norm poet — 
composed the words and airs to several of those songs. 

He told her of this at the close of the evening per- 
formance. 

“You are a musical genius, besides being a poet 1 Did 
you know it?” he demanded. 

“Oh, yes. I would be a second-rate genius if I didn’t 
know it, Phil Rushington.” 

“You are a first-rate one, and you may consider your- 
self — well, call it engaged !” 

Phil’s voice dropped a little as he said that, and it was 
light enough where they were standing for each to see the 
bright color in the face of the other. 

“At a salary, as Grayson just told me,” she managed to 
say, while her voice trembled a little. 

“Yes, and in any other way that you will think favor- 
ably of!” whispered Rushington. 

Their faces were close together, and both were in a 


232 


Phil and Dora. 


mood to say such things, and their hands met, and so did 
their lips. It was not the first time. But they were young, 
and two minutes later Dora said, with her merriest laugh : 

“What an act that would be on the stage, Phil Rush- 
ington ! Only, if you had your dramatic star. Miss Rey- 
nolds, she could do it with more effect. With her it 
would be sort of real, you know.” 

“And wasn’t it real with you, Dora?” exclaimed Phil, 
disappointedly. 

“Oh ! I was just practicing, so I could go through with 
it on the stage. I expect you will go into the dramatic 
line again some time — ^don’t you?” 

“Possibly. But, truly, Dora, I mean everything I 


“Impossible, Rushy, dear. You often contradict your- 
self. I have heard you.” 

“Can’t you be earnest, Dora? Come, I have wanted 
a serious talk with you for a long while.” 

“You ought to know better than to expect it.” 

“Why?” 

“Did you ever know me to be serious ?” 

“Yes.” 

“You were mistaken. I never was, at least when I was 
talking in the way I did just now — rather, acting in that 
way. I was just practicing for the stage.” 

“Truly, Dora, you are a dear girl, and it is brave of 
you to come away from home to earn money to help, now 
that your father is ill and in trouble.” 

“Then Grayson told you all about it?” Dora’s voice 


Phil and Dora. 


233 

fell, and so did her eyes, and Phil knew that there were 
tears which he must pretend he did not observe. 

'‘Gray told me all.” 

“Gray is awfully good, don’t you think?” 

“The best man living.” 

“Yes, the best man living, Phil, dear; but I didn’t 


“You didn’t say what, Dora?” 

“That he was the best boy living. Too old to be called 
a boy, you know !” 

“You do a deal of dodging in your talk to-night.’" 

“An artful dodger, that I am.” 

Phil tried again to be a little loving, but Dora would 
not permit it. She was in a mood to talk business, and it 
was settled then and there that she should enter his em- 
ploy for a while at least, and the amount of the salary was 
agreed upon, and, as far as possible, the nature of the 
duties. The engagement was made for a month only, for 
it was by no means certain that Dora would wish to con- 
tinue longer than that. 

“The trouble has come to us so suddenly that I have 
not had time to think yet,” Dora said, a sadness in her 
voice and face such as he had never seen there before. 

“How did it come about?” 

“I don’t know. Papa has been failing mentally longer 
than we knew. I think he made some transactions when 
he was not capable of knowing the nature of them. Some- 
how, everything we had, or that we thought we had, 
went in a moment, as it were,” 

“How does your mother take it ?” 


234 


Phil and Dora. 


“She seems to scarcely realize it yet.” 

“And your father?” 

“He realizes no more than a child.” 

“Then, you, my poor girl, are as if alone!” 

“In that respect. It is that which sends me out to earn 
my living. To teach I must leave home the same; and, 
somehow, I had no heart for the work. I wanted to be 
somewhere where I could sing, and compose stuff, and do 
such queer things, just to occupy my mind, and get a 
living out of it. At the same time. Rush, I wanted to see 
somebody awfully.” 

“Whom did you wish to see?” 

“It may have been Walt. Anyway, he was the first one 
I saw after I got to where your show stopped. And I 
had a glimpse of you, and somehow you didn’t appear 
natural. You seemed to have grown older all of a sudden, 
and to have an air of being the manager of a big show, 
and to have forgotten that you were not so old, not yet out 
of school — that is, if you were doing your duty by your- 
self.” 

Phil’s face fell. He thought of Drexel, of the glass 
of wine he had taken that morning, and of the other 
which John Grayson had snatched from him before the 
last performance. 

He knew then that he had been tempted further than 
he had realized at the time, and his cheeks burned. An 
hour before he would have given any money rather than 
have had Dora Warren know of his temptation and brief 
weakness. Now he found himself telling her of it, keeping 
not a word of it back. 


Phil and Dora. 


235 

“I was getting what the boys call a ‘swelled head,’ and 
now I know it ! And you will never think so well of me 
again, I am sure. But I couldn’t go on and have you 
believe me so much better and stronger willed than I 
knew myself to be.” 

Dora took Phil Rushington’s hand and raised it to her 
lips. 

“Now, I know that you are human, and not a demi-god, 
as so many have thought. I believe we can be pretty 
good friends. What do you say. Rushy?” she exclaimed. 

“Don’t say that, Dora?” 

“Won’t be friends with me, then !” 

“Yes, yes. But I was no demi-god, and nobody thought 
so.” 

“I did. So did Lena, and a lot of others. I’m glad you 
have been found out. I’m glad you did wrong.” 

“That is nonsense, Dora. You have forgotten the 
fearful temper I have.” 

“You have overcome that.” 

“No, I have not. It is the same now, and I have to fight 
hard to keep it down. Why, if Louis Denton were here 
this minute I could thrash him within an inch of his life !” 

“Wish he was here. I would like to see you do it, 
and, but for you, I wouldn’t care so much if you passed 
over the inch! He will have to be hanged some day, 
in any case, for his heart is full of murder. Have you 
forgotten Springvale and the big lake ?” 

“I will never forget where and when I first saw you, 
dear.” 

The evening was warm and pleasant, and while the 


236 


Phil and Dora. 


tents were being removed and the other property of the 
circus loaded on to the teams, and th6 wagons rumbled 
and the voices of the workmen sounded in subdued tones, 
Phil^ and Dora paced to and fro, continuing their mutual 
confidences. Suddenly a slender form came running 
toward them out of the darkness, and they were con- 
fronted by Isabel. She looked almost wild, and she 
trembled as if she had a chill. 

'The horse — the drug — those terrible men — -oh, Phil 
Rushington ! Is it time for the performance yet ? Am I 
too late ?” she cried. 

Our hero caught her hands. They were cold as ice. 

“What is it, Isabel? The performance is over, and I 
am all right. But what do you know about the horse and 
the drug?” 

A strange, unnatural suspicion flashed through the 
brain of Phil. 

Did Isabel have anything to do with the drugging of the 
horse ? 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

Isabel's story. 

Dora Warren took the nervous girl in hand, and it was 
she who succeeded in calming the star rider of Rushing- 
ton’s circus sO' that she could tell a straight story of her 
terrible experience of the evening. 

Phil could hardly believe the evidence of his ears. 

“Do you say that Mr. Drexel was with Louis Denton, 
and that he helped to make a prisoner of you so that you 
would not betray them?” he cried. 

“Yes, he had a hand in it. And it was his wit that sup- 
plied the idea of drugging the horse. He is as bad as the 
other.” 

“And you would have warned me, Isabel?” 

“Yes. See how I fought ! If they catch Denton, see 
the marks of my fingers on his face ! If I could only have 
gotten at my revolver I would have made an end of the 
villain !” 

“It was a brave thing that you did !” 

“It was not brave in me to desert you yesterday. I 
was ungrateful, and a coward in that. I wish, almost, 
that I had been the one to ride the horse that they 
drugged.” 

“Don’t say that, Isabel. But how did it happen that 
you were so near the tent to-night just before the begin- 
ning of the performance?” 

“I was coming back.” 


238 


Isabel’s Story. 


'To see me?” 

‘To ride when my call came. And Philip, will you for- 
give me — ever?” 

“Yes, that was done long ago, for you would not have 
done what you did to-night if you had not been a true 
friend to me. Why, they might have killed you, as a 
dangerous witness to their guilt.” 

“Denton said he would do it. I believe he would if I 
had not managed to get out of the hut where he put me, 
and hidden in the woods until they got out of the way. 
They tied me up so hurriedly that it did not take long 
for me to release myself.” 

“That Drexel must be caught, as well as Denton, if 
possible,” said Phil. 

He saw that Dora secured a conveyance to the hotel, 
and then went in search of an officer. 

Dora was very tender of Isabel, and the latter was 
strangely willing to accept the kind offices of the one of 
whom she was jealous. 

When Isabel had a change of clothing, and had taken 
a cup of tea in Dora’s room at the hotel, she told Dora 
of all that had happened. 

“Do you know why I would not ride to-day?” she 
asked. 

They sat side by side, and Dora was holding the hands 
of the beautiful circus rider in her own. 

“How should I know?” 

“You might suspect if you were as sharp as Phil Rush- 
ington thinks you are.” 

“You see I am not. And perhaps, Isabel, you are not 


IsabePs Story. 239 

so clever as a rider as he believes you. He always thinks 
better of people than they deserve.” 

^‘Does he think I am clever?” 

“He wrote to me, and said that you were the most at- 
tractive rider in the world.” 

“I would rather be the one written to than the one 
written about,” said Isabel, smiling. 

“I am not sure about it.” 

“I am. But I don’t wonder that he likes you. And it 
was horrid in me to be jealous. That was why I would 
not ride. Walt Arkwright told me that you were here, 
and that he thought you wished to join the circus. And 
I was almost wild when I heard it. He had me for his 
star; then he got Mamie, and praised her, and then he 
hired Eona, and she won some of the admiration that be- 
longed to me. Now he will hire you, and you will stand 
first with him always. That is what I thought, and it 
made me wild. It was foolish and wicked in me. I am 
sorry, sorry, for I know that you are the loveliest girl 
in the whole world, and I don’t blame him for caring for 
you.” 

“He doesn’t care so very much, perhaps.” 

“Oh, he does. Of course he does. He can’t help it. 
And you care for him.” 

“Hush, hush!” 

“It is so. I am not sorry. You are better for him, for 
you are a lady, and I am only a circus rider.” 

“You are the dearest girl in the world, Isabel !” 

“I am only a circus rider — though a star rider still I” 

“You are a dear, Isabel, and I love you! You darling 


240 


Isabel’s Story. 


girl ! If Phil Rushington, or anybody else in the world, 
were to be unkind to you, they would now have to answer 
to me for it !” 

Isabel bent her fair head to her new friend, and the 
two girls sat silent for a long while, their hearts beating 
in unison, both thinking of Phil Rushington, of each other, 
of the moments of happiness and of pain which had come 
to them in their brief past, of that which might come to 
them in the near future. 

Isabel’s past had little of brightness in it; Dora’s had 
always been bright until recently. What did the future 
hold for her? She was thoughtful enough to realize that 
she might be on the threshold of trouble and care and mis- 
fortune. She had sung and laughed so much; now the 
tears might come sometimes even to her bright eyes. 

“But I will be near to Rushy, dear, for a while at least, 
and that will help,” she thought. 

Down in the hotel parlor at that moment Walt Ark- 
wright and Lena Thurber were soberly talking about the 
science of teaching — “pedagogy,” as it was called in the 
Normal School. And Walt seemed to know as much 
about it as if he had made it the study of his lifetime. 

The young circus owner came in an hour later, with 
the report that Drexel had taken a train out of the town 
just before the close of the evening performance. 

Denton had been caught and was in the jail. 

A council was called in the hotel, and it was decided 
that Phil and Isabel should remain to appear against Den- 
ton in the local court the next morning. He would surely 
be held for trial before a higher court, and they would 


IsabePs Story. 


241 


have to be on hand to see him convicted when the time 
should arrive. But that might not be for several months 
— weeks, at least. 

Isabel was nearly prostrated by the struggle and ex- 
citement to which she had been subjected the night before. 
Yet there was a new dignity in her manner, and it seemed 
to Phil Rushington that she had never looked so well. 

“I’ll never run away and serve you such a trick again,” 
she told him. 

“Didn’t you say that before?” 

“Perhaps. But this time I will keep the promise.” 

“I will never blame you very hard for anything after 
this, Isabel, for you risked your life to save mine. You 
are a heroine!” 


CHAPTER XXXIIL 

AT A WAY STATibN. 

Phil sat on the back of his favorite saddle horse, with 
both his legs dangling on the same side of the saddle, and 
re-read a letter which had just been handed to him by the 
man who acted as railway ticket-seller and postmaster 
combined at the small station where the circus train was 
obliged to stop. 

The circus was not to exhibit in that place — not a bit of 
it. The Mossman & Rushington Circus and Hippodrome 
now sought bigger fry in the way of towns than that. 
But it had to pass through, and as it was on a single track 
road the train had orders to wait on a siding for another 
train to pass. 

The letter was from Norman Carpenter, the advance 
agent. The passage which held the attention of Phil with 
such vital interest was as follows : 

“From Rawley to Charlotte by rail you have to take a 
roundabout course, and there is scant time to get you here 
before noon, and there will not be time for you to give 
a street parade before twelve o’clock, unless they make a 
quicker run than usual. You can’t depend on it. I have 
looked the ground over in every possible way, for I want 
to get you into this region, which is little worked by the 
circuses on account of the bother of getting here. But 
once across the blank strip of territory and you will 
strike a collection of good towns that will give you a wel- 


At a Way Station. 


243 


come. To add to the trouble, there have been heavy rains 
and one or two washouts, and there is a good chance of 
your being stalled on the road if you depend on the trains. 
You see, the rail route takes you on a course which really 
covers two sides of a square, or about double the distance 
which you would have to traverse in the one other way 
which I will here suggest. If you don’t like the sugges- 
tion, and are willing to risk the getting here late, stick to 
the train ; otherwise, unload at Rawley, where your train 
will have to wait an hour or more, anyway, and come 
across the country as per the road map sent herewith, 
with the teams. The road is bad, it is true, and you have 
to cross the river by steamer and land four miles below 
on the other side. You will notice on the map that there 
are two roads ; I marked the one which covers the longer 
course as safer on account of a boggy strip when the 
water is high, as at present. The other is three miles 
shorter and might do on horseback, but the ‘bulls’ and 
teams will have to go the longer way, and I am told that it 
would be safer to stick to it with the whole outfit. 

“Such, Rushington, is my judgment; and may the mud 
and water have mercy on your soul ! I have told you the 
plain facts, and now you must choose. Best of luck and a 
serene old age to you. 

“Cordially yours, 

“Norman Carpenter. 

“P. S. — There is another circus making this way, but 
I couldn’t ascertain whose, nor the route. So, for Heav- 
en’s sake get here ahead of it and in good order. C.” 

The last clause — the postscript — was what gave Rush- 
ington pause. 

“What show can it be that has struck across my path 
at this time, and in a region where I thought I had the 


244 At a Way Station. 

field to myself?’’ the young circus owner exclaimed, half 
aloud. 

The hour was two o’clock A. M., and Phil read the let- 
ter by the light of the lamp that hung on the front of the 
station. 

The station master was inside, half asleep, for it would 
be some time before the other train would be there. The 
circus train was on a side track, and Phil had not dis- 
turbed a soul of the members of his troupe, not even a 
canvas man or other laborer. Rushington had a name 
of being most merciful to his people, although discipline 
reigned supreme throughout the organization. 

Upon receiving the letter — he had expected one from 
his advance agent at that station — Phil had unloaded his 
own saddle horse, with the notion of riding out on the 
road which had been marked as the shorter, and possibly 
dangerous from high water. He had an hour, and could 
explore a good bit of the way before his train would have 
to start in case he should decide to keep on by rail and risk 
being late. 

But having mounted, he stopped to re-read the note, as 
stated. And that reading caused him to decide what to 
do. 

“One thing or the other at once will get me there, but 
an hour of dawdling may lose me the race,” was his 
thought. 

He flew about like wildfire. First, an order was given 
to the station master that his train would be unloaded 
there and go on empty, ready to transport them the next 
night from Charlotte. Then he went to rouse Walt and 


At a Way Station. 


245 


the other foremen. He left the performers undisturbed 
until the last moment, for they would mostly ride on 
horseback, and so would be able to traverse the distance 
to the river landing much quicker than could the laden 
teams and the animals which would have to go on foot. 

‘‘This is what I call rather sudden,” said Walt, rubbing 
the “sand” out of his eyes. 

Phil hurriedly explained the situation, and Walt said : 

“Well, it looks as if it ought to be sudden, if we are 
to race for a first chance to exhibit in the towns across 
the river. But our people will growl some at being turned 
out on to the road on a dismal night when they have just 
begun to put in their time in sleep. Not many of us are 
used to the old-fashioned way of circus transportation.” 

“That is so. And our teams are not fitted for it, either. 
But there is no help for it. Here we go.” 

It was swift work. The movements of a circus, when 
it comes to the mechanical part of it, always are swift. 
Phil had the cleanest set of men that could be hired for 
the business, as he was forever weeding out those who 
were uncivil or disagreeable. Yet he could not complain 
when one or two used strong language when they found 
what was to be done. Grout, the ringmaster, and the 
Irishman who bossed the canvasmen, had the most to 
say. 

“And would yC have us hoomp it loike a caravan on the 
desert?” demanded the latter. 

“Just the same if it came to that, Mike. But it is a 
matter of pride with every man connected with the Moss- 
man & Rushington Circus and Hippodrome not to let any 


246 


At a Way Station. 


other show get ahead of us. You are a part of the organi- 
zation, and if we get left, you will be with us,’’ said Phil, 
quietly. 

“Left, is it? Oi will not. If we get left it is meself 
thot will thry for a chance wid the show that bates us in 
the race.” 

“Do you mean it, Mike?” 

“Thot Oi do!” 

“And how is it with you, Mr. Grout?” Phil asked of 
the ringmaster. 

“I am with Mike in that verdict,” was the reply. 

“Go to the other men and tell them what you have 
said to me, and we won’t be the ones to get on to the 
ground at Charlotte second in the race. If every man 
will do his best we will be all right.” 

When Phil put the matter in this light it set the men 
into a different mood. They became fired with the ambi- 
tion to fetch the Mossman & Rushington in ahead in the 
race. They fell to with almost furious eagerness. 

Never was so much circus property unloaded from a 
train in a briefer space of time. 

Of the performers to be awakened, the female members 
were the last. Eona was the first to appear, and Mamie 
was a close second. 

Rushington knew that the steamboat would make an 
early start, and he was anxious to get the heavier part of 
his property and the animals to the landing in ample sea- 
son. It was not probable that the boat would be able to 
carry the whole at a single trip, and this made the need 
of an early start all the more imperative. 


247 


At a Way Station. 

There was the possibility, too, that the boat might leave 
the landing earlier than expected, and as it would not be 
known that they would have a circus to transport across 
and down the river until Phil or some one connected with 
the show reached the landing, it seemed to be necessary as 
a matter of prudence that some# member of the company 
be sent on in advance of the heavy teams. 

This matter was broached to Phil in a momentary talk 
with Walt. The latter instantly replied : 

“Take the lead yourself, and make sure of chartering 
the steamer, on the best terms that you can command. 
You could beat a commissary general when it came to 
chartering transports and making things hustle generally.” 

“That is all right; but things have got to keep moving 
at this end of the route at the same time, and who is 
going to attend to that?” 

“I am going to attend to that, old man — see ?” 

“All right, only I didn’t know whether you wanted to 
handle it alone or not.” 

“Pm feeling just like it. Rush.” 

“Well, I shall take the shorter road, for I am going 
horseback, and there is not much danger of getting stuck 
on account of the water if I travel light. I wish two or 
three of you would go along with me; then I would be 
sure of so much.” 

“Let the girls ride with you. They would feel happier 
plodding through the darkness with Phil than they would 
in ever so comfortable quarters with that same Rushing- 
ton away from them,” growled Walt. 

“Perhaps you are right. But I will have to find out 


At a Way Station. 


^548 

first or it would be like them to say that I have no need 
to flatter myself. Here is Mamie. See what she says.” 

“And is it here that ye are going to pitch your tint, 
may Oi be axing?” she exclaimed, as she came up, rub- 
bing her dimpled fists in her sleepy eyes. Yet the latter 
were bright as stars, and there was a world of mischief 
dancing in them at the moment. 

“Nary a tint here, colleen !” mimicked Rush. 

“Then what is the matter that ye be turning us out of 
our bunks at this toime of the night ?” 

“Just for a little practice in riding, Mamie. Time is 
getting more valuable as I grow older, and I have begun 
to realize it all in a bunch, so to speak. But I will tell you 
the honest truth, and that is we have got to take a short 
cross-country ride to a steamboat landing on the river. I 
go ahead of the loaded teams, and by the shorter of two 
ways. Where are Dora and her brother Elmer? And 
Isabel, also. She was always awake when she need to 
to be asleep; have the tables turned so that she is ready 
to sleep when the rest of our people are taking their 
longest doze ? She will come to it one of these days, and 
wish she had been easier with herself.” 

Even as Rush spoke ' a slender, willowy-formed girl 
stepped from the sleeping car and in a moment was on 
the back of her own horse, which had just been unloaded. 

This was Isabel, the star of the circus. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


WHAT MAMIE SAW. 

The Mossman & Rushington Circus and Hippodrome 
was not yet a large affair, simply for the reason that Phil 
Rushington, who was the sole proprietor, had not the 
capital to handle a big show. But it was clean, it was 
bright, its people were of the most select character, and it 
presented several novelties. That was not all. Phil was 
ambitious, and almost every member of his company of 
performers was a personal friend to him and consequently 
interested in the success of the whole organization. 

His success had been phenomenal from the start. This 
was not because of a “great aggregation of wonders,” but 
because of the personal popularity of its proprietor and 
the winning qualities of several of his performers, besides 
the novelty of some of the surprises introduced. 

His clowns were not many, but they were clowns. His 
menagerie was small, but the animals were large of their 
kind, and many of them were trained to do tricks. Sev- 
eral new cages had been received at the last large town 
visited, and some special “business” for the ring was being 
devised. 

Rush went to give a few final orders to Grout and 
Michael Ryan, and then instructed Walt further. Mean- 
while, Isabel, Mamie, Dora Warren and Eona pranced 
up on their horses, ready to follow wherever Phil Rush- 
ington might lead. 


250 


What Mamie Saw. 


Elmer Warren, the brother of Dora, was a young man 
who had just joined the show. He was instructed to stay 
behind and help about the work, as in that way he would 
obtain a more intimate knowledge of the business, which 
would be essential in the work which he was to do in the 
interest of the circus in the immediate future. 

“Are you quite sure to reach the river landing by the 
route you have chosen?” Walt suggested, when they were 
about ready to start. 

“I’m going to consult the station agent here about the 
roads. He may be able to cast a little light on the matter 
and avert disaster,” said our hero. 

The man in charge of the station was slow and stupid, 
in every imaginable way. He “hemmed and hawed” for 
five full minutes without helping matters. 

“Shorter road’s nearer,” he sagely declared. “Maybe 
it’s flowed over ’long the flat, and then ag’in maybe it 
ain’t. T’other road’s longer, and ye got to cross the crick. 
Can’t go around the crick. Toler’ble sort of bridge, if 
’tain’t washed away. Can ford the crick, if ’tain’t too 
deep. Or, ye can foller crick down to where it j’ines the 
river — that is, ye could do that if ’t wasn’t for the low 
spot that’s mostly flowed over.” 

Such was the sum and substance of the information ob- 
tained from the man in charge of the station. Then Phil 
asked about the shorter road, in the hope that there might 
be just a glimmer of more definite information concern- 
ing that in case he prompted a bit just to hold the man to 
the point. 

’“What I want to know,” said Phil, “is whether or not 


WHat Mamie Saw. 


251 


the shorter road to the river landing is likely to be over- 
flowed, or so boggy that I can’t get across on horseback, 
with the water as high as it is now?” 

The man scratched his head. 

‘‘How many on ye going?” he asked. 

“Five, to start with.” 

“All hossback ?” 

“Yes.” 

“Ever over the road before ?” 

“Never.” 

“Hosses afeard of water?” 

“Not very.” 

“Them gells going with ye?” 

“Yes.” 

“Them the bareback riders in yer circus?” 

“Yes,” laughed Phil, with a glance at Dora. 

Isabel was the only one of them all who was not smil- 
ing by this time. She was watching Dora, and she saw 
what she imagined to be a contemptuous curl of the lips. 

“She doesn’t fancy being classed with the circus riders,” 
was the bitter thought of the jealous star of the circus. 

“Wish ye was going to show right here,” said the man, 
with a glimmer of animation. 

“I think we will have to if we wait for you to give us 
any pointers about the roads,” said Phil. 

“In a hurry, maybe. Wal, if I was you. I’d use my own 
judgment about taking ary one of them roads. Say, 
which one of them gells can ride standing on t’other foot 
with her ban’s clasped over her head, same as I’ve seen 
’em in the picters on the bills?” 


2SZ 


What Mamie Saw. 


‘This one,” said Phil, riding alongside of Dora. 

“Hope I shan’t fall out of the saddle now while he is 
looking,” laughed Dora. 

‘*1 should think you would rather,” said Isabel, in a 
low voice. 

“Why, Isabel?” 

“Because I suppose you feel nothing but contempt for 
a mere trick rider. I do not blame you. I would rather 
be a lady, than to be the best rider in the world, with 
the newspapers full of talk about me.” 

“I would rather be the best rider in the world, if I 
could only draw the salary of one,” Dora replied, with a 
look straight into Isabel’s eyes. 

“Why would you?” 

“Because my father needs the money. He was well-to- 
do for many years ; now he is poor and in debt.” 

“I supposed your people were rich and that you never 
knew what it was to do work of any kind.” 

“I never did, except to help at home, and to study. My 
mother taught me to do much of the work about the 
house, for she said that in no other way could I know how 
to direct the work in a house of my own if I ever had one.” 

“And that is all you ever did?” 

“Yes, except to teach one term in a country school. 
That was enough for me. I hate teaching.” 

“That is easy work.” 

“What, in a country school ? Did you ever try ?” 

“No, for I have not an education for that.” 

“You wouldn’t call it easy work if you had. Where I 
taught I had to sweep out the schoolhouse, ’tend the fire. 


What Mamie Saw. 


^53 


scrub the windows, so as to let in the sunlight, thrash the 
boys, shake the girls, and a lot of other things that 
weren’t real easy. If I could have gotten a city schoolito 
start with, it would have been all right ; but they wouldn’t 
give me that. Would you prefer that to riding a hand- 
some horse and kissing your fingers to the people, and 
hear them applaud?” 

“Perhaps not. But a teacher is a lady.” 

“I have seen some who were not. And aren’t you a 
lady? I think you are one, and I know somebody else 
who thinks so.” 

“Who else?” Isabel eagerly asked, lowering her voice. 
At the same time she glanced toward Phil Rushington. 

“Yes, he thinks so,” nodded Dora. 

“How do you know?” 

“He has said so.” 

“I don’t believe it!” 

But Isabel’s face was beautiful with bright color, and 
her eyes shone brilliantly, as Dora could see by the light 
from the lamp on the front of the station building. 

“We will try the shorter road,” said Phil, riding up 
to them. “So far as I can gather from this man, the 
chance of getting through by one route is as good as that 
by the other, and I suspect that he knows very little about 
either, for he stays right here at the station all the time. 
Come. We’ll make the best time we can, and I guess we’ll 
pull through somehow. We had better keep as close to- 
gether as we can, for it is dark, and there is a chance of 
our horses striking into a bog.” 


254 


What Mamie Saw. 


They started, the young circus owner a little ahead 
But Mamie soon rode up alongside of him. 

“Did ye see the other chap, Rushy?’' she asked, in a 
low tone. 

“What other chap?” 

“The one in the office.” 

“Was there anybody besides the man I was talking 
with?” 

“Sure, me b’y.” 

“Then I didn’t see him.” 

“He was fresh, and made oies at me from the rear 
platform of the building, jist as I mounted me horse.” 

“Young or old, Mamie?” 

“Both. His behavior was grane, like that of a b’y, 
but he had the face on him of a man of fifty. Split the 

difference and ye moight get at his true age.” 

1 

“I don’t see as there is anything important in the cir- 
cumstance, Mamie. Why did you mention it?” 

“Because I noticed that he seemed to be trying to kape 
out of your sight.” 

“Do you think he really tried to avoid me?” 

“Whin ye came around the other side of the building he 
dodged inside of it, and rubbered at ye through the win- 
dow. Thin whin yet got back to this side he skipped to 
the other platform again and tried to twist his neck and 
oies so as to look at ye around the corjier of the building. 
That was not all, ayther.” 

“Give me the rest of it, then.” 

“Oi saw him say something to the older man in a sly 


Wliat Mamie Saw. 


255 

sort of way, and thin, unless me oies desave me, he paid 
the other man some money.” 

“Your eyes deceived you, Mamie, for a man doesn't 
pay money unless he is asked to do it. Some never pay 
money even when they are asked.” 

“Belave me or not. Ax Isabel. She niver loies ! She 
is a p’ach, with the bloom still on !” 

But Phil put more faith in the warning of Mamie than 
he pretended. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

Dora's danger. 

The highway along which the little party rode at an 
easy but fairly rapid pace was better than the average in 
that region for the first three or four miles. Then they 
began to find some mud, and the pace had to be slackened. 

Phil rode ahead of the girls alone for quite a distance. 
He found it dull business, and he wished that one of them, 
at least, would ride up with him and keep along at his side. 
As to which one of the four he would have preferred at 
that moment perhaps it would have been hard for him 
to decide, had he been asked. 

It was Isabel, however, who did overtake him. Then 
he was a little disappointed because it was not Dora. 

“She hasn't seen much of me lately, and I should have 
thought that she would have a lot of things she would 
wish to tell me about her school life," was his thought. 

But he would not allow Isabel to suspect that he would 
have preferred then to have talked with Dora. 

“It is so dark, and the wind makes such a dismal 
noise, that I wanted to get closer to you," said Isabel. 

“It is a dismal region at best," said Phil, “and I am 
glad I don’t have to make the trip entirely alone. This 
isn’t like the populous parts of New England, where you 
can hardly get out of sight of a dwelling in whatever 
direction you may travel. The other girls are falling 
pretty well to the rear, aren’t they ?" 


257 


Dorans Danger. 

“Eona and Mamie are together, and the — the other is 
behind them. She does not seem to be in any hurry. I 
thought she would wish to ride with you, and I kept back 
so as not to intrude.” 

“You mean Dora?” 

“Yes.” 

“You were considerate of her. You see, she would 
rather ride alone.” 

“I don’t believe it, just the same.” 

“You don’t seem to have much faith in Miss Warren.” 

“She is a lovely girl, and we have promised to be the 
best of friends.” 

“Do you live up to the pledge?” 

“I do my part. But she has a way of freezing one out 
at times.” 

“I learned that a good while ago. Lots of girls have 
that trick, and I guess it is a good thing, on the whole. 
You can do the same trick pretty well if you try.” 

“I wonder if anybody cares?” 

“I know one who does.” 

“Who is that?” 

“Walt.” 

“Pshaw!” 

Isabel whipped up her pony and Phil had to strike a 
lively pace to keep up with her. They heard the sound of 
pursuing hoofs, and supposed that the other three girls 
were following close behind. 

It was somewhat muddy there, and there was a down- 
ward slope to the road which Phil did not like. Presently 
they came to a point where the road seemed to fork, and 


258 


Dora’s Danger. 


here he paused to make sure which of the two tracks 
was the most likely one to follow. 

There were a few scrubby trees scattered about; and 
there were places where there seemed to be dark, narrow 
strips, which Rush knew was water. There were fleet- 
ing clouds overhead, but there was a moon behind them, 
and it was not very dark. 

Eona and Mamie rode up close to their leader, but, for 
some reason, Dora had fallen well to the rear. When she 
reached the spot where the road forked she could see no 
sign of her companions. 

For the first time she felt uneasy. She looked in every 
direction, and then dismounted to see if she could find 
their tracks, so as to know which of the two roads they 
had taken. She dared not choose until she had some sign 
to go by. 

It was too dark for her to see very distinctly, but she 
thought she detected tracks which had been recently 
made, and remounting her horse, she followed the road 
out upon which those tracks invited her. 

She had, in truth, found tracks, and they were those of 
Phil’s horse. But, had she examined the way again a 
little further on she would have discovered that the tracks 
did not go far. He had gone a little way out on that 
road, and then turned back, convinced that it was not the 
one which led to the river landing. 

Dora urged her horse to a swifter pace, and wondered 
that she did not come up with the others. Soon the horse 
became reluctant to advance, and she noticed that he 
seemed to travel with difficulty. At the same time she 


Dorans Danger. 


259 


observed that a sloping plain extended in front of her, and 
on both sides of the narrow, muddy road, and that the plain 
was irregularly crossed in all directions by black lines 
which Dora knew to be water. 

She suddenly pulled up on her horse, oppressed by a 
sense of horror. 

“I chose the wrong one of the two roads ! I am lost !’" 
she cried. 

The horse was moving at a walk. Now he plunged, 
nearly throwing her over his head. Then he stopped, 
with head down and breathing hard. Then he made a for- 
ward leap, cleared one of the black channels, and sud- 
denly sank to his knees in mud and water. That was not 
all ; the more he tried to clear himself, the deeper he sank ! 

“Help!” screamed Dora. 

She sprang from the saddle, alighting on a hummock 
which shook under her feet. She leaped from that to an- 
other, which gave until she nearly slid off into the black 
ooze. It seemed to her that all the earth around her was 
trembling with her every movement. 

“Oh, I shall sink ! I shall sink 1 God help me !” burst 
from her lips, for she had never before known such ter- 
ror. A lake or an ocean would have seemed less horrible 
to her than those black lines of water, so still and snaky, 
with the tremulous clumps of earth on every side, and 
nothing that would not quiver and gurgle if she placed the 
weight of a foot upon it. 

The strange motion to the earth, whenever she at- 
tempted to move, gave her a sense of nausea; her head 
swam, and she did not know which way to turn to re- 


26 o 


Dorans Danger. 


trace her steps. She caught a glimpse of the horse, which 
had ceased to struggle, and which seemed to be sinking 
deeper in the morass each instant. 

The clouds over the moon thickened, to add to the 
dismalness of the scene. The wind blew harder, and a 
few big drops of rain pattered around her, sounding like 
stealthy footfalls in the darkness. 

Dora hardly dared to stir. Yet the thought of remain- 
ing there to await the coming of Rush to her rescue was 
intolerable. Would he come at all? They might not 
miss her until they reaiched the landing. Then he would 
have to ride back, and he might not explore this strip of 
crossroads for hours. Meanwhile, a single misstep might 
sinlHier in the quagmire — the most horrible of all fates 
to her imaginable. 

Dora Warren had a strong will ; but there was some- 
thing about her present danger that paralyzed her power 
to stir. She managed to face about, and at last ventured 
to try another hummock. But it contracted like a wet 
sponge under half her weight, and she sprang back to the 
one which at least sustained her. It seemed to her then 
that the black channel in her rear had grown broader, 
and she imagined that the bit of earth upon which she 
stood was afloat like a raft, and that she was drifting 
farther and farther away. 

She shouted for help again and again. The sound of 
her voice in that lonely place terrified her, and she could 
scarcely summon resolution to continue the cries. Yet 
by a strong effort of her will sh6 did so. 

It seemed at last as if there was an answer. Was it 


Dora’s Danger. 261 

but an echo mocking her? She shouted again — and yet 
again. 

"‘Here ! All right, but stay where you are. Don’t try 
to stir !” 

“Thank God !” 

A passionate gust of wind swept across the morass, 
and a dash of rain spattered in Dora’s face, and made 
the little curls that crinkled about her temples twist up 
the tighter, for they were not of . the kind which are made 
with a heated iron. She waited^with hands clasped to- 
gether until some one came fearlessly toward her, and 
then she was lifted in Phil’s arms, and then she knew that 
she was saved. 



CHAPTER XXXVI. 


A VILLAINOUS ATTEMPT. 

The rescue of Dora Warren’s horse from the quagmire 
into which he was sinking was a process that took more 
time than did the rescue of Dora herself, and it was not 
such a dainty job at that. But the young circus owner 
knew how to go about it, and had found a way to ap- 
proach the spot on solid ground. Fortunately, the horse 
ha<Lnot sunk very deep. A little encouragement, with a 
heroic pull at the bridle, accomplished the feat, and once 
on solid ground Dora disdained to accept of Phil’s help 
to reach the saddle. Not much was said until they were 
riding side by side back to the point where the roads 
forked. 

‘'Now we will try being sensible again,” said Dora. 

“Don’t you think that was a sensible thing that I did 
just now?” Phil asked. 

“Not the whole of it. You didn’t have to hold my head 
up in the way you did, and you were slower about it than 
was necessary. You might have pulled me out more as 
you did the horse.” 

“You didn’t wear a bridle.” 

“I had arms, and the horse hasn’t.” 

“You bothered me by getting them around my neck.” 
“Did I?” 

“Didn’t you know it?” 

“Perhaps I knew at the time, but I’m trying hard to 


A Villainous Attempt. 263 

forget the whole affair as fast as I can. Oh! but it was 
terrible, though!” 

“Having your arms around my neck, or the other thing 
that I did?” 

“Don’t talk so, Phil!” 

She leaned toward him in her saddle, and their young 
faces touched, and after that they did not jest about the 
adventure. 

“I started back as soon as I was sure that you couldn’t 
be intending to stay behind us. I began to worry, and 
waited for Mamie and Eona to come up. Then I made 
them all dismount at a comfortable spot and started back 
to find you. I felt rather shaky when I found that you 
had taken the wrong road, for I didn’t know but you 
would ride into the river. This is a horrible strip of 
country through here, and I’ll be glad enough to get out 
of it. There, we are at the spot where the roads separate. 
Now we will make a pace to catch up with the others, for 
there is a chance that we may miss the first morning trip 
of the boat.” 

“What would happen in that case?” 

“The other circus would probably get ahead of us.” 

“Then there is another circus making for the same 
place ?” 

Phil told her of the letter he had received from Mr. 
Carpenter. 

“That is why I routed you out at this time of night 
to go by this route instead of keeping on in the more com- 
fortable way. Did you think I did it just for fun?” 


264 


A Villainous Attempt. 


“All I understood about it was that you were afraid you 
would not get to Charlotte on time by rail.” 

They soon came up with the other members of the 
party, and found that Mamie had been amusing herself 
by racing up and down the sloppy road on her horse and 
spattering her companions with the muddy water at 
every chance. Isabel and Eona were on the point of 
trying to pull her from her horse to give her a ducking 
when Phil arrived and stopped the sport. 

Isabel gave Dora a sharp glance as they came up, and 
there was a hint of suspicion in it, for it occurred to her 
jealous mind that Dora might have gotten off the road 
purposely, so that Phil would come back for her, and so 
give her a chance to have him all to herself for a time. 

But when our hero had told the facts, it was Isabel 
who first went up to Dora and gave her a hug, with her 
lips close to her ear. 

“You are a dear girl, Dora, and I love you !” she im- 
pulsively whispered. 

“And you are another, Isabel !” laughed Dora. 

An hour later they were at the river landing, and to 
Phil’s intense relief he found that the boat had not started 
on its first morning trip. For that matter, there was no 
need of its starting, as it had no cargo, owing to the bad 
condition of the roads. The water was high, the river 
having overflowed the lower lands along its course. It 
swept along its way with a swift, silent, eddying current 
that had something majestic in it. 

Phil had no difficulty in chartering the boat to trans- 
port his circus property, or as much of it as the craft 


A Villainous Attempt. 265 

would hold at a time, to Charlotte. It would take an hour 
or more to make a trip, and another to unload, and there 
would be none too much time, early as was the hour. 

Besides, it was well known to the boatmen that there 
was another circus on its way down the river from a point 
farther up, and they were momentarily expecting the 
other boat to come in sight. 

The information made Phil more anxious than ever. 

Now that he had found the road to be passable he had 
no fears as to the safety of the highway part of the jour- 
ney. And, between watching the river for the expected 
sight of the steamboat with the rival circus and keeping 
an eye on the road to catch the first glimpse of his circus 
teams, Phil was more busy than he would have been if he 
had really something to do. 

He was not long kept in suspense on the score of his 
own circus, for the trainer with the elephants soon put 
in an appearance, and then a troop of horses and the cages. 
The wagons with the canvas and other tent materials 
began to arrive immediately afterward, and the work of 
loading on to the steamboat went on rapidly. The cap- 
tain of the boat called a halt, declaring that not another 
pound of any kind of freight should be taken aboard. 

“The lighter the load the quicker the run,” he declared. 
“And,” he added, “if you want to beat the other show in 
time, we want to get a move on us, for there’s the River 
Queen from up the river, and unless Pm mistaken, she has 
some circus stuff on board of her. Jing ! she is steaming 
up, too!” 

Walt and Phil were both on board, and the steamer was 


266 


A Villainous Attempt. 


beginning to back out into the river. At the moment a 
roughly-dressed man, who had come aboard unobserved 
by Rushington, walked over to the rail and stood watch- 
ing the other boat with his coat collar turned up and his 
shoulders shrugged up to his ears, as if he were cold. 

It was indeed somewhat chilly. It was past sunrise, yet 
the sun had not shown itself. There was a mist over the 
river, and the other steamer was puffing and blowing its 
way pompously through it, lashing the current into foam. 

This stranger at the rail seemed to be deeply interested 
in the progress of the other boat. As the captain of the 
one chartered by our hero walked forward Phil noticed 
that this stranger stopped him, and for a moment he 
seemed to be greatly excited over something. The cap- 
tain shook his head, appeared cross, and finally made a 
gesture and left him. 

“Notice that fellow Walt questioned. 

“Yes. I wonder what he wanted of the captain?’’ 

“I thought it was a request to wait for him to go ashore 
for something, or to hail the other boat. I’m getting to be 
quite a detective, you know, doing the spotting for you, 
and I read motions about as easily as I do print.” 

“I don’t see as there is anything important in it, since 
it is sure that the captain knows what we want of him. 
What worries me most is the speed of the two boats — I 
want to be sure that we get to Charlotte ahead of the other 
circus.” 

“What difference Vvill it really make? Your agent has 
engaged the grounds, of course. If the other show goes 


A Villainous Attempt. 267 

there it will have to take what there is left, and we will 
have to compete with them for business if they are bound 
to show on the same day that we do.” 

“That is all right, Walt, only it isn’t the whole of it. 
There are no really public grounds in Charlotte, and we 
haven’t got to hire any. A license to exhibit was obtained, 
Mr. Carpenter selected the best available space for the 
setting up of the tents. No permission or exclusive rights 
could be hired. That was something that troubled Mr. 
Carpenter more than a little in one town that we struck, 
but I didn’t realize at the time of how much importance 
it might be. Indeed, I congratulated myself that we 
should not have to pay out money for the grounds. Now 
you see the other show can pitch their tents on the spot 
selected by my advance agent if it gets there ahead of us.” 

‘T see. Well, we are getting under way, and it seems 
now to depend a good deal on the speed of the boats. 
You have given the captain of this boat a full understand- 
ing of the situation ?” 

“Yes. Ah ! we are seen on board the other boat, and 
they seem to be steaming up at a higher rate. It is to be 
a race. And it doesn’t end on the river if we get to the 
landing at nearly the same time, or the one that gets some 
canvas first on the grounds will really hold them.” 

The rough-looking stranger did not linger long at the 
rail in sight of Phil and Walt. He moved at a swag- 
gering gait toward the opposite end of the boat, and as he 
passed near where Mamie was standing Phil noticed that 
she gave him a lingering scrutiny, while he seemed bent 
upon avoiding her. 


268 


A Villainous Attempt. 


A moment afterward he disappeared, and then Mamie 
followed as if she were bent upon keeping an eye on him. 

Walt did not observe this, and Phil attached no im- 
portance to it. Both became intensely interested in the 
race between the two river boats, which had now fairly 
begun. 

The River Queen was the faster boat of the two, but it 
was heavier laden. It looked as if an attempt had been 
made to get the whole of the other circus property on 
board of her, besides a partial cargo of other goods. Evi- 
dently the circus was a “one-horse” affair, as it would 
have to be if the whole of it was on the river boat. 

But with the lighter cargo the leading boat was making 
the faster time — or, at least, maintaining the lead. Both 
were doing their best already, and as they were going with 
the current, they were making excellent time. 

But Rushington was doubtful of the result. He started 
in search of the captain to urge him to win the race at 
any cost. Walt remained at a point whence he could 
watch the progress of the pursuing boat. 

At that moment there was a shrill cry that rang from 
end to end of the boat. Phil recognized the voice of 
Mamie, and he ran in the direction whence the cry seemed 
to come. 

It took him well aft, past the bales of canvas and other 
circus property, past the cages and wagons which were 
ranged close together, to a narrow space shut off from the 
sight of any who might be at any other point on the boat. 
And there he saw Mamie struggling with the rough 


A Villainous Attempt. 269 

stranger, and near them a heap of hastily kindled com- 
bustibles which were just leaping into flame. 

There was a shout from Phil, a cry from Mamie, a 
growling ejaculation from the man, and then the girl was 
released and the ruffian made a break for liberty. At the 
same time Walt dashed past, coat in hand, and began beat- 
ing out the fire with the garment. 

Our hero caught up a rope’s end, seized the man by 
the collar and cried : 


''You whip the fire, Walt — I’ll thrash the villain 1” 


CHAPTER XXXVIL 


CONTROLLING THE CROWD. 

It was no child’s play that Phil had undertaken in his 
part of the contract. The “villain” whom he had agreed 
to thrash was powerful of frame and ugly of temper. In 
addition, he speedily demonstrated skill in wrestling. 

He did not know how to use his fists with any effect; 
but he closed with the young showman before the latter 
could apply the rope’s end with any vigor. Mamie stood 
back and watched them, and Walt, with a few whips with 
his coat extinguished the blaze. A boatman came run- 
ning up and would have tried to separate the combatants 
with perfect impartiality. 

Walt pulled him back. 

“You don’t have to interfere,” he said. 

“No fighting on the boat,” said the fellow. 

“Just one little fight till that scoundrel is thrashed, and 
then it will be as you say.” 

“Eh! it is the owner of the circus, isn’t it?” the boat- 
man exclaimed, for the first time recognizing Rushington 
as one of those engaged in the scuffle. 

“Yes, and the other had kindled a fire here to burn up 
boat, circus and all. Look there!” 

As Walt spoke he trod upon a tiny blaze which he had 
failed to quite extinguish. The boatman began to com- 
prehend that it was a case where there was no defense 
for the man who was engaged with Phil Rushington. 


Controlling tlie Crowd. 271 

“Let me get hold of him !” he exclaimed. 

“I don’t think my friend will need any help,” said Walt. 

The boatman was a heavy, slow-moving man, good at 
lifting, but innocent of science. He waddled up to the 
combatants and the ruffian who had kindled the fire saw 
him coming. For the moment our hero had his hands 
full, for his antagonist had the under hold. The stranger 
suddenly swung out with his left, and the boatman went 
down as if he had been shot. 

Mamie, realizing that the danger was averted, began to 
enjoy the fight. She would not have liked to see Phil 
go down like that; but a boatman down was as good as 
a boatman standing, so far as she was concerned, and she 
clapped her hands, and spun on her toes. 

“All down but two !” she cried. “Set ’em up again !” 

Then she subsided to observe the struggle, which had 
settled down into a wrestling match of no common order. 
Our hero knew something about wrestling, and it was a 
long time since he had been thrown. But he found the 
man he had tackled was an expert in the art, and that he 
was strong and heavy in the bargain. 

In wrestling, other things being equal, the heavier man 
has an advantage. He is harder to lift, and his cumber- 
some weight makes him hard to swing. He has a surer 
footing. And in this match the stranger was far the 
heavier. 

That was why the encounter lasted so long. Walt be- 
gan to grow anxious when he saw that Phil was being 
swung to and fro, while the other held his footing. 


272 Controlling the Crowd. 

“Don’t be easy with him!” warned Walt, fearing that 
Phil might put off his supreme effort until too late. 

“Rush isn’t one of the aisy koind,” assured Mamie. 

“That fellow is heavy as a pig and he knows how to 
wrestle.” 

“Me own money is up on the lightweight, just the 
same.” 

“Look out — look out. Rush I” cried Walt, for at the 
moment it seemed that the stranger would lift Phil off his 
feet. But it was a false alarm. The young circus owner 
was merely feinting, to throw his opponent off his guard. 

By this time the boatman was on his feet, and a hint 
of the affair had been noised over the boat, bringing 
others of the crew and members of Phil’s company troop- 
ing to the spot. 

Dora Warren and Isabel were among them, and Burt 
Wister, the versatile “tramp” performer who had been 
several months with the show, followed them. While 
they were rattling questions at the head of Walt Ark- 
wright, they heard something fall. 

Walt usually had an abundance of confidence in Phil 
Rushington. Yet he was surprised to see that it was not 
his friend who had come to grief. The advantage a mo- 
ment before had been so manifestly on the side of the 
stranger that Walt feared that for once Phil had found 
more than his match. Had it been an encounter with 
fists Arkwright would not have doubted the outcome. 

It was the stranger who fell, nevertheless, and a perfect 
roar went up from the spectators. By this time it was 
known that the unknown man had tried to set the boat on 


Controlling the Crowd 273 

fire, and as the men saw him lying at the feet of Rushing- 
ton several made a dash for him, and there were ugly 
threats in the air. 

‘‘Pitch him into the river!” yelled one. 

“No — give us the rope, and we’ll make a noose for his 
neck!” said another. 

“Never let him oi¥ the boat alive !” came from a third. 

The ruffian had been stunned by his fall, for his head 
had struck on the deck. But the grumble of threatening 
voices, and a glimpse of angry faces and gestures aroused 
him, and he sprang to his feet. 

“Catch him — down with him !” 

Four stalwart boatmen closed in. The stranger glared 
back at them in terror. At the same time a pistol ap- 
peared in his hand. 

“Look out !” cried Wister. 

At the same time other revolvers came into sight, and in 
a moment the ruffian would have started a shooting game 
in sheer desperation, for he knew enough of the temper 
of the crowd with which he was surrounded to realize that 
his life would be worthless if they got their hands onto 
him. 

The pistol was knocked out of his hand, and it fell on 
the deck. It was Rushington who did it; and it was he 
who snatched the weapon from where it lay, and it was his 
voice that rang above the swelling sounds of wrath. 

“Back, gentlemen ! No shooting!” 

The command wasv coolly spoken, and the confident and 
commanding mien of the young showman carried author- 
ity and demanded obedience. 


274 


Controlling the Crowd. 


“Did that chap try to fire the boat?” demanded one. 

“That remains to be proved. But he must have fair 
play. I will stand responsible for his safe keeping until 
we reach the landing. Call the captain, Wister.” 

The acrobat hesitated. It looked to him as though 
Phil might need him, for the boatmen were not inclined 
to subside from the hostile stand they had taken. 

“He’ll be along in a jiffy, I reckon,” said Wister. 

“A jiffy is too long to wait. Call him instantly.” 

Burt Wister sent an appealing glance at Walt, and the 
latter understood. The acrobat had been in that region 
before and understood the temper of the men with whom 
they had to deal. He knew that Phil would stand his 
ground, even if the crowd demanded that he surrender the 
ruffian to them under penalty of beginning to shoot if he 
refused. 

Walt stepped quietly to the side of Phil. Then Bar- 
rows, one of the clowns, followed suit. 

“Hand the boat burner over, or we’ll take him,” growled 
the boatman, who had been knocked down by the 
stranger. 

Mamie, meanwhile, had been looking keenly at the 
man whom our hero had vanquished in wrestling, and 
whom he was now protecting from the wrath "of ”the 
crowd. She suddenly glided up to Phil. 

“Rush, that is the man that rubbered at ye at the sta- 
tion and made oies at me !” she exclaimed. 

“Who is the man ?” 

“The wan that would have burned the boat.” 

“Are you sure, Mamie ?” 


Controlling the Crowd, 275 

“As sure as Oi am thot it is yourself thot Oi’m looking 
at this minute/' 

“That shows that he was on the watch for us, and 
that it was to detain or to ruin me that he would have 
burned the boat." 

“Thot’s what Oi was thinking." 

Phil spoke in a low tone to Walt. 

“Take that piece of rope and tie the scoundrel’s hands. 
If he resists I’ll hit him over the head with the butt of his 
own pistol !" 

Walt had the rope in his hand, and had begun to ex- 
ecute the order before Rushington had ceased speaking. 
Our hero turned again to the crowd, which was now made 
up of all the boatmen who were not actually engaged in 
the work of running the boat. 

“This man," be said, speaking in an even tone that 
carried conviction with it, “had no motive in burning the 
boat except to destroy the cargo which belongs to me. I 
never saw him before, therefore he must have been hired 
to burn up my property, or to delay the boat, so that the 
other with which we are making a race for the landing 
would win. So you see it is important that I know the 
truth, and it is for me to deal with him. You need have 
no fears of his getting away, for I am bound to have the 
truth out of him before he goes. He shall get his des- 
serts, never fear." 

There was a grumbling response to this speech; but it 
was not without effect. One of the men counseled his 
companions not to interfere ; and while they were arguing 
the point, the captain, who had been busy directing the 


276 Controlling the Crowd. 

attempt of the boat to outstrip the liiver Queen in the 
race, appeared. 

‘‘Back to your business! Clear!” he sharply ordered, 
as he came up. 

Not a man of them dared to refuse. Meanwhile Walt 
had secured the hands of the ruffian, who had been so 
terrified by the threats of the boatmen that he had no 
nerve to resist. 

Rushington acquainted the captain with the circum- 
stances in a few words. 

“You ought to have let the men had him, and done for 
him ! It is the only way to deal with his sort !” snapped 
the captain. 

“I claim the privilege of seeing justice done while I 
am getting at the facts. Captain Hackett,” said Phil, 
quietly, “and you must not allow your men to interfere.” 


CHAPTER XXXVIIL 


FIRST STAGE OF THE RACE. 

The race on the river had reached an exciting stage. 

Captain Hackett yielded to the demands of Phil in the 
matter of the temporary disposition of the man who had 
been detected in the act of setting fire to the boat. In- 
deed, the young circus owner had a knack of bringing 
people to his terms in most things which he was resolved 
upon. 

The prisoner gave his name as Neil Dustin, but he 
would not at the time tell anything more about himself. 
The race between the river boats was so critical just then 
that Phil did not wish to spend the time to question the 
stranger until it was certain as to which one of the two 
boats should first reach the landing. 

It appeared that the one in pursuit had made a gain 
on its rival. It was by this time so close that Phil could 
distinctly see the persons on the other boat who were in 
the forward part and also eagerly marking the relative 
rates of progress of the two boats. 

Among the persons so stationed Rushington noted one 
who looked familiar. The man stood with his face partly 
averted, but he seemed to be speaking to another who 
stood near, and making peculiar gestures. These, too, 
reminded Phil of the motions of some one whom he had 
known in some unpleasant connection, which at the mo- 
ment he could not recall. 


278 First Stage of the Race. 

But he was not long in doubt. Walt came up and 
said : 

“Isn’t that man Joseph Q. Saunders the man who per- 
suaded Norman Carpenter to embezzle and invest your 
money in a wildcat scheme, at the time that your dramatic 
troupe was broken up ?” 

“It is — it is !” cried Rush. 

“And when we last heard of him, wasn’t he connected 
with the organization of a new circus combination, and 
didn’t he try to hire Isabel away from you ?” 

“Of course. That is too recent a happening for me 
to have forgotten any part of it.” 

“Well, then it means ” 

“That the circus that is trying to beat us in the run to 
Charlotte is under the management of my particular en- 
emy. That explains everything, including the attempt 
to set fire to this boat. That Joseph Saunders is the 
worst snake-in-the-grass living! Yes, he would have 
burned up my circus property, just for the sake of beating 
me! I will have the truth about this thing, if I have to 
choke it out of Neil Dustin with a noose around his neck ! 
I’ll throw him over to the mercy of the boat hands if he 
doesn’t tell the truth and the whole truth.” 

Hoot — hoot! blared the whistle of the River Queen, 
Swash — swash! sounded her paddles, now so close that 
they could hardly be distinguished from the sound of 
those of the leading boat. 

“They’re going to win the race after all!” said Walt, 
who was really more miserable in his anxiety than was 
Rushington himself. 


First ^tage ot tlie Race. 


279 


Captain Hackett came running up. 

‘We’ll win, but it is a close shave,” he cried. 

’How is that? The Queen is gaining.” 

‘Let her gain.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“In three minutes we will be at the landing at Qiar- 
iotte !” 

“That’s so? Good! But won’t they overtake us, even 
in that time ? And if they are only a minute behind us it 
will be a close shave for us to get on to the grounds ahead 
of them. I don’t see as we have the advantage of them 
to an extent worth shouting over.” 

“There’s only one wharf where the circus property can 
be unloaded safely. We are ahead, and we don’t let the 
other fellow get ahead of us?” 

“Good I But can you help his getting the lead ?” 

“Why, sure, Mr. Rushington. By refusing to make 
way for him to pass us. There, he is going to try. Now 
see us get in his way and bring down upon us the wrath 
of the pilot.” 

Hackett’s pilot had his instructions, and the man at the 
helm had his. The River Queen veered to the left of the 
other boat, bent on passing her. But Hackett’s boat ran 
out in the same direction, so as to cross the other’s bow. 
There was danger to both in such maneuvering, for the 
current was strong and allowance had to be made for its 
force in calculating so as to avoid a collision. 

Rushington ’s people were all on the watch, and there 
was a murmur of applause when they recognized the pur- 
pose of the maneuver. The River Queen had to slow up — ■ 


28 o 


First Stage of tlie Race. 

had to reverse her paddles — then to be thrown broadside 
to the current. 

There was a narrow escape from a collision as it was. 
But the leading boat, having a clear way ahead of her, 
did not have to slacken her speed. As a consequence, the 
pursuer having checked her headway, the leader gained 
several lengths on a spurt. This was not all. The Queen 
had swung out of the main channel and the risk worked 
against her, as it was bound to do. 

“She will go aground! she’s grinding on the mud bar 
already!” yelled a voice. 

“Keep off! keep off!” shouted Saunders, waving his 
arms frantically. 

“Let her dredge the river if she likes!” chuckled Cap- 
tain Hackett. 

Mamie had been observing the whole affair in silent 
interest, and at this moment she recognized Joseph Saun- 
ders. A derisive laugh rang from her lips, and he turned 
and recognized her standing with Isabel close to the rail. 

The creases in his face, which had been made by long 
years of much smiling and pretense of good nature, deep- 
ened. But it was a savage leer instead of a smile that 
met the gaze of the two girls. 

“Bah !” he cried, hoarse with wrath. And that was all 
he could summon voice to speak at the instant, as he shook 
his fists at them. 

“Come ahn, Joey !” cried Mamie, defiantly. 

Isabel was laughing, Mamie was imitating the wrath- 
ful gesticulations of Saunders, Dora Warren was looking 


First Stage of the Race. 


281 


anxious, and Burt Wister proceeded to strike an attitude 
in full sight of everybody on board of the other boat, and 
to swallow a sword, working his jaw as if he were making 
a breakfast off the blade and greatly enjoying the repast. 

Meanwhile the River Queen was in trouble, and she 
would have many minutes of it before she could swing 
clear of the mud bar. Her rival forged ahead, hooting 
exultantly at every turn of her paddles, churning the 
yellow river current, and making straight and safe for the 
largest pier at the foot of the town of Charlotte. 

Morning had dawned, and the mist was lifting from the 
river. The birds in the trees on the opposite shore were 
twittering clamorously as the sky reddened with the flush 
of dawn. 

As Captain Hackett’s boat ran her nose up to the pier 
the rising sun burst through the mist, glinting the church 
spires and roofs, and even the dingy chimneys of the 
town with gold ; and to Phil Rushington it seemed like a 
presage of success for him. 

“The first stage of the race is won, old man !” he ex- 
claimed, as Walt came up. 

“It’ll be the same with all the other stages. It is bound 
to turn out that way with everything that Phil Rushington 
tackles, no matter what and no matter how.” 

“Don’t say that, Walt,” said Phil, gravely. And into 
his eyes there came a look which seemed almost to be one 
of foreboding. 

“Why not say it? It is true.” 

“It isn’t true.” 


282 


First Stage of the Race. 


“Don’t you come out on top about every time, with 
all kinds of people trying to pull you down ?” 

“I am human, and there is a Power greater than luck 
or fate that rules. We mustn’t forget that !” 

Walt clasped the hand of his chum in silence. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


FIRST ON THE GROUNDS. 

The race was not over. The River Queen was swing- 
ing and splashing in a vain attempt to get off the mud 
bar, while the rival steamer backed up alongside the pier 
with complacent ease. But there was a man on the pur- 
suing boat who would not give up so long as there was 
the shadow of a chance to win, by fair means or foul. 

Joseph Saunders was a queer character. He was a 
man to win friends, and sometimes he seemed to possess 
qualities which were worthy to be admired. He was 
shrewd, and he had in his day done things which seemed 
to be generous and fair. But he had not a friend in the 
world whom he would not “throw down” if it seemed at 
the time to be for his selfish interest to do so. 

With the boat stranded, and uncertainty as to the time 
required to get clear of the mud bar, Saunders was none 
the less determined to get onto the circus grounds at Char- 
lotte ahead of Rushington. 

A rowboat, manned by three stout oarsmen, and con- 
taining Saunders and two members of his company, put 
out from the steamer on the side most distant from the 
other boat. Before a man from the latter had set foot on 
the pier Phil saw the rowboat shoot past, and Joseph 
Saunders was the first man from either boat to spring 
ashore. 

“Walt, we must make a break for the grounds, and get 


284 


First on the Grounds. 


on to them ahead of that man at any cost!” exclaimed 
Phil. 

He did not wait for a word from his companion. He 
needed none. They sprang ashore together, and their 
horses followed soon after. The landing was deserted, 
for the hour was too early for anybody to be astir. 

A bundle of stakes for staking out the spot to be cov- 
ered by the tents were taken by Walt, and this was all the 
property that they tried to take with them. What was 
needed was something to make a show of being ahead, to 
entitle them to the ground, and the stakes would be 
enough. 

Saunders was out of sight, and as he could not land 
a horse, he was, of course, at a disadvantage unless he 
should be fortunate enough to find a team or horse on the 
street that could be taken to get him over the ground at 
a rate faster than a footpace. 

It had been said that Saunders was at a disadvantage; 
but it should be added that some kinds of men are never 
at a disadvantage, since they have within themselves the 
energy to overcome every kind of obstacle. That energy 
is better as a possession than any advantage of wealth, 
position or other endowment. Energy will create oppor- 
tunities when none exist, and make the most of the limited 
chances that may be presented. 

Joseph Saunders, with all his faults and iniquities, was 
filled with that sort of energy. He could command a 
regiment and wheedle any kind of service out of one 
whom he could not command. So, as he strode furiously 
up on the deserted principal street of the town it was with 


First on tlie Grounds. 285 

a determination to reach the circus grounds ahead of 
Rushington, no matter if the latter were ahead of him at 
the start. 

He saw a colored boy lazily grooming a handsome horse 
in front of a door. The horse was young and restive. He 
was bridled, probably because he had a habit of breaking 
away with only a halter on. It was just the sort of horse 
Saunders was looking for, and Joseph Q. Saunders strode 
up and stuck out a thumb and forefinger, holding a silver 
dollar. 

“Say, you just step in and get me a drink of water, 
will you?’’ he said. “This dollar is yours — maybe you 
dropped it — and you needn’t hurry about getting out with 
the water, either.” 

The boy stared with eyes big as saucers. 

“Start your legs, and mind what I say, will you !” 

Saunders jammed the dollar into the black hand, and 
then smartly cuffed the black ear which was nearest. The 
double inducement could not be resisted, and the boy 
scampered off after the water, with his stupid wits in a 
maze. 

Saunders let him get out of sight; then he sprang on 
to the horse, reached down and jabbed a pin into the ani- 
mal’s flank, and was off like the wind. 

He turned the first corner, and succeeded in pulling 
the horse up before another stable where a boy was also 
grooming a horse. This boy was whiter than the other, 
but not quite white, except his eyes and teeth. 

“Sho ! boss, you — you got Marse Granby’s hawse !” ex- 
claimed the lad. 


286 


First on the Grounds. 


“Fve bought it. Fm the circus man, and I buy ah the 
fine horses I see. Tell me where the circus groundr> are, 
will you? Where the show was last year, I mean?'^ 

“Dere wa’n’t no circus las’ year, boss.” 

“I meant year before last, of course. I forget things. 
Where do they always set up the circus tents? Tell me 
that. Here’s a dollar I found out here, and I guess it 
must be yours. Quick about it.” 

“Why, boss, yo’ see,” began the boy, but Saunders 
reached for his ear, found it, and held on. 

“Point out to me just where I will find the circus 
ground or I take your ear, and you don’t get the dollar ! 
Now, warble!” 

The little groom gave the direction, and with remark- 
able explicitness. The “circus man” was off like a comet, 
and out of sight before the boy had a chance to compre- 
hend what had happened. And this time Saunders re- 
warded the boy for the assistance by a cruel pinch of the 
ear, and omitted to give him the dollar. 

“That’ll teach him that it isn’t safe to trust strangers — 
a valuable lesson for any boy to learn I” said Saunders. 

It was not far to the grounds, and he had made such 
good speed that he was confident of being ahead of the 
young proprietor of the rival circus. 

Therefore, he did not press the horse quite so hard for 
speed. He felt happy — quite in a rollicking mood, indeed 
— and sang and whistled, proving at the same time that 
he had some of the art of a cowboy as a rider of a spirited 
horse without a saddle. 

He so reached a short, narrow bridle path leading 


First on the Grounds. 


287 


through a fringe of trees, beyond which lay the open 
grounds which were the only ones available in the vicin- 
ity of the town for the exhibition of a tent show. 

He reached the end of the path, and then heard the 
sound of pounding — or thumping — either like that of a 
horseman or some one driving a stake. A moment after 
he saw the open field — and there was some one driving 
a stake! 

The words which poured in a limpid stream from his 
lips would not have been suitable to “drink in.” He 
plunged the convenient pin, which he used in place of 
spurs, to the head in the flesh of the horse, and the latter, 
with a scream of pain, performed an antic that sent the 
scoundrel to the earth. 

Without a rider, the horse raced away across the nar- 
row plain, and Saunders, with a shoulder that felt as if 
it were broken, and with a bleeding scratch across one 
cheek, staggered to his feet and stared after the fleeing 
horse. He was bewildered and half stunned, but the sight 
of Phil Rushington and Walt Arkwright, of the Rushing- 
ton Circus, brought to him a revival of his energy and 
ugliness. 

The young showman and his chum were not a hundred 
yards distant from the spot where Saunders had been 
thrown. There was pain in every joint of his body, there 
was an eating, burning rage in his soul. He did not heed 
the bodily pain, for it only intensified his passion against 
Phil Rushington, and it helped him to cover the inter- 
vening distance quicker, if anything. 

He reached a row of stakes which they had already 


288 


First on the Grounds. 


driven, and began pulling them up and throwing them 
into the air as if they were noxious weeds which had been 
found in a garden of flowers. He had thus disposed of 
half a dozen before Rush really had time to comprehend 
what was happening. 

Then Saunders received a check. It was the hand of 
Phil on his shoulder, and then the proprietors of the rival 
shows clinched, wrestled furiously for a brief time, and 
then Saunders went down again. 

He would have sprung up and renewed the fight, for he 
was in a desperately reckless mood. But Rushington had 
noted the almost insane glare in the man’s eyes, and com- 
prehended the meaning of it. Phil had a wild temper of 
his own, which he had been struggling for several years 
to control, and he knew that no man in that condition was 
responsible for what he might do. It was a moment when 
his assailant must be controlled at any cost. 

As Saunders half regained his feet, Phil saw his hand 
go to his hip pocket in a significant way. But the hand 
did not withdraw a weapon, for he was on his back again 
before he had time to do so, and under a blow from Rush- 
ington’s fist. 

“Walt,” called our hero, “I have caught the Tartar! 
What will I do with him?” 

As Walt came hurrying to the scene of the fray. Rush 
bent down, jerked the half-drawn revolver from Saunders’ 
pocket ^d threw it into the bushes as far as he could. 

“You might better have kept that, old man,” said Walt, 
watching the flight of the weapon. 

“I didn’t want to trust myself with it. In anger a man 


First on the Grounds. 


289 


is liable to do a good many things which he would regret 
in a cooler moment, and merely having the means for 
murder about him often leads to it. I don’t care to trust 
myself any more than I would trust that man there.” 

‘That last blow must have been a hard one. Is he 
badly hurt, do you think?” 

“If he is,” answered Phil, “it was not so much due to 
the blow I dealt him as to the fall from the horse.” 

After being struck down by the young showman, Saun- 
ders had lain quietly, never so much as moving a muscle. 
The young circus owner knelt beside him and was about 
to lay a hand on his heart — for the utter stillness of the 
man gave rise to something like alarm — when the closed 
eyelids twitched suddenly apart. 

“He’s worth a dozen dead men yet,” remarked Walt. 
“Look out for him, Phil. We know from experience 
what a desperate villain he is.” 

Phil knew, however, that he would have no trouble in 
dealing with the fellow now that he was disarmed. 

“Lie still, Joseph Saunders,” he commanded, a mena- 
cing glitter in his blue eyes. “You see, I know you, and I 
am sure you have not forgotten me.” 

“Certainly not,” returned Saunders, a wily smile over- 
spreading his face. “This race of ours is something of a 
neck-and-neck affair, Rushington.” 

“Some men never know when they’re beaten,” was the 
grim rejoinder, “and you must be one of that kind.” 

“Tush ! The race isn’t always to the swift, and you’re 
a good ways from the wire yet. What will you give me to 
cancel my date in this town ?” 


290 


First on the Grounds. 


‘‘Not a cent. It’s as good as canceled already.” 

“If that’s a conundrum, I give it up. What’s the 
answer ?” 

“There’s only one available site for a show in this entire 
town of Charlotte. We are on the ground, and have 
driven our stakes, so you might just as w^ll keep on and 
fill your next date, wherever it happens to be. Unless,” 
with a wink at Walt, “you want to pitch your tents here 
to-morrow, and try for the business we leave.” 

“This town ain’t big enough for two shows, Rushing- 
ton, nor for a two-days’ run. You know that as well as 
I do. This is no time to air our past grievances. The 
whole thing simmers down to this : If I don’t show here, 
you don’t — unless you do the square thing by me.” 

“What do you mean, you villain ?” demanded our hero, 
who was rapidly losing his patience. 

“I mean just what I say,” responded Saunders, with 
one of his snaky smiles. “My men back there on the 
Queen have their orders. They know what to do.” 

“Yes,” put in Walt, angrily, “and so do we know what 
to do. Phil, we’ve got this scoundrel in our hands, and it 
may be that we can handle his show through him in spite 
of what he says about his men aboard the River Queen 
having their orders.” 

“My idea exactly !” declared Rush. “He is responsible 
for his men, and if they commit any depredations, or in- 
dulge in any lawlessness, he can be called to account for it 
jointly with them. Time is wearing swiftly, and our pick- 
and-shovel gang ought to be here any minute. As for 
Saunders, we’ll tie him and keep himi a prisoner over 


First on the Grounds. 


291 


there in the woods — a hostage for the good behavior of his 
show outfit. Roll over on your face/ Saunders, hands 
behind your back.” 

‘‘Not much,” growled Saunders. “You ain’t so high 
and mighty, Phil Rushington, and are no better in the 
eyes of the law than I am. You can’t make prisoners out 
of people, in this town, without some excuse for doing it.” 

“Excuse!” retorted Phil. “Haven’t we excuse enough? 
Didn’t one of your men board Captain Hackett’s boat and 
try to fire it? You know who I mean — Neil Dustin.” 

Saunders started slightly and rolled his shifty eyes in 
Phil’s direction. 

“That’s excuse enough to get you behind the bars,” 
chipped in Walt, “and tie up your one-horse combination 
for a while waiting for you to get out.” 

“Bah I” sneered the ruffian. “You’ll have to prove that 
Dustin is my man and tried to fire your boat on my order. 
I can tell you now that I don’t know anything about him. 
You lay hands on me at your own peril. I dare you to 
touch me I” 

“Don’t push me too far or you’ll regret it,” answered 
our hero, sternly. “Tie him, Walt. Take off his sus- 
penders and tie his hands at his back.” 

Walt started in cheerfully to comply, but Saunders, 
bruised and racked with pain though he was, threw up his 
arms and clasped them rigidly about Walt’s waist as he 
bent over him. 

This move was not so desperate as it might seem, for 
Saunders had been dallying with his rivals and hoping for 
aid in the persons of Reddy and Big Bill, respectively his 


292 


First on the Grounds. 


ticket agent and general utility man, who had come ashore 
with him from the stranded Queen. 

Reddy and Bill had been left near the stable where 
Saunders had forcibly taken the horse, and the ruffian 
knew well that his henchmen would follow him post- 
haste. 

While half reclining on his back and talking with Rush- 
ington, Saunders caught a covert glimpse of Reddy re- 
connoitering the situation among the bushes and taking 
possession of the revolver which the young showman had 
hurled from him a few moments previously. 

So, when the all but baffled showman made his move, 
he knew his lurking men would hasten to his aid, and 
that he might succeed in turning the tables on his captors. 

“He wants more of the same medicine you dosed him 
with a while back. Rush,” panted Walt, struggling with 
Saunders. 

“We haven’t any more time to fool away on him,” 
answered the young circus owner, dropping down beside 
Walt and grasping the arms of their prisoner. “Jerk off 
his braces and tie his wrists while I hold him.” 

So busy were the two friends that they neither heard 
nor saw the two forms that sprang out of the undergrowth 
and sprinted swiftly across the plain; consequently the 
furious and unexpected attack engineered by Reddy and 
Big Bill was temporarily successful. 

The newcomers, especially Bill, were brawny fellows, 
and of a piece with their lawless employer. Reddy grap- 
pled with Walt, and Bill hurled himself like a catamount 
at Rushington. 


First on the Grounds. 


293 


The attack was from the rear, and before either Walt 
or Phil realized what had happened, or just how it had 
been done, each was being pinned to the ground. 

“Just in the nick of time, boys !” exclaimed Saunders, a 
look of sinister satisfaction overspreading his face. 

In the joy of the moment, he forgot his bruises, sprang 
quickly to his feet, snatched the revolver from Reddy, and 
ran to the assistance of Big Bill. Phil had begun a fierce 
struggle to free himself, and Saunders knew too much 
about the young showman’s muscular arms to feel entire 
confidence in the prowess of his utility man. 

“Easy, Rushington !” gritted Saunders, pressing the 
muzzle of his weapon against Phil’s temple. “Turn about 
is fair play, and it strikes me that here’s where I get my 
innings. If the rest of my fellows follow out my instruc- 
tions down at the pier, the chances are good for my tents 
going up here instead of yours. You intended to handle 
my show through me. That’s a pointer, and I’m going 
to handle your show through you. The only difference in 
the situation is that I’ve got a double cinch on the mat- 
ter, so to speak, since there are two of you and only one 
of me. No, I guess I won’t cancel my date. It will be 
Mossman & Rushington who cancel theirs.” 

“You haven’t got any of your stuff on the ground yet,” 
returned Rush, speaking with difficulty, because of the 
heavy knee on his chest. 

He was not a little taken aback at this coup on the 
part of Saunders’ men. One thing he could not under- 
stand, and that was the failure of his own laborers to ar- 
rive on the scene and begin operations. This thought in 


294 


First on the Grounds. 


mind, he shifted his eyes to the highroad leading through 
the town, and to the river along which his wagons were to 
come. Saunders saw the look and laughed harshly. 

“Don’t expect any reinforcements, Rushington,” he 
said, with an evil leer. “My men will see to it that none 
arrive.” 

“I wouldn’t feel too sure about that,” was Phil’s cool 
rejoinder. 

Even as he voiced the words a pattering fall of hoofs 
was heard, and four horsemen broke into view, made 
note of the little drama being enacted on the plain, and 
rode straight for the actors. 

Three men and a colored boy comprised the party. 
They were strangers to Phil, being undoubtedly towns- 
people, but he liked their looks and knew they must cer- 
tainly range themselves on his side. 

One of the horsemen was tall, of dignified appearance, 
and wore an iron-gray beard. He was a distinguished- 
looking man, and was evidently the leader. The other 
three men were more ordinary looking — one being short 
and fat and puffing heavily from the jolting of their rapid 
ride. 

“They mean business right up to the hilt, Joe,” mut- 
tered Big Bill as he eyed the swiftly-approaching party. 

“I guess you’re right tliere,” was Saunders’ grim re- 
sponse. 

“The little nigger is pointing his way at you.” 

“So I see.” 

“Does he know you?” 

“Probably he thinks he does.” 


First on the Grounds. 


295 


Big Bill was beginning to lose his courage. 

“The best thing for us to do is to cut and run,” he 
averred, with a wild look toward the woods. “To be 
caught here, like this, is a dead give-away.” 

“To run would be a worse give-away.” 

“For Heaven’s sake put up that gun. The very sight 
of it ” 

Big Bill got no further. 

At that precise moment Phil upset him and sprang 
erect, grabbing Saunders by the hand that held the re- 
volver as he did so. 

This move was a signal for Walt to do likewise, and 
Reddy, sharing some of the fright of Big Bill, allowed 
himself to be brushed aside without serious resistance. 

“Make a run of it !” called Bill, starting for the timber. 

The suggestion was most agreeable to Reddy, and he 
ducked under Arkwright’s extended arm and sped along 
in the trail of the utility man. 

“Stop those fellows!” shouted the tall man, pointing 
toward the fleeing rufflans. “By gad, there’s crooked 
work here, and we’ll sift it to the bottom.” Two of the 
three men who had accompanied him spurred after Reddy 
and Big Bill, and the tall man turned upon Rush and 
Saunders, drawing rein beside them. “Guns, eh?” he 
muttered, “and in a peaceable, law-abiding community 
like this 1” 

“By gum,” put in the little fat man, “carryin’ concealed 
weapons is ag’in the ordinance, an’ that there chap could 
be fined!” 

“That weapon doesn’t appear to be concealed, Blowker,” 


296 


First on the Grounds. 


said the tall man, dryly. Then he turned his calm, dark 
eyes on Rush and Walt. “What is the meaning of this, 
gentlemen?” he asked. 

“I and this man,” answered Phil, shaking Saunders’ arm 
as he spoke, “are the proprietors of rival shows. As this 
seems to be the only available site for our tents, we had 
a race for the place. My friend and I succeeded in getting 
here first, and were driving our stakes when this man set 
upon us with a revolver. Later he was joined by two of 
his men — the fellows being brought back by the two 
horsemen there.” 

The tall man looked away to where Reddy and Bill 
were being hauled back by their collars. This spectacle 
apparently fired Saunders with indignation. 

“What right have you to lay hands on me or my men ?” 
he demanded, hotly. “We have rights here, and shall see 
that they are respected.” 

“You’ll get your rights without any trouble,” answered 
the tall man, with a withering look. “I’ve brought along 
Mr. Blowker, here, to attend to that very thing. Mr. 
Blowker, sir, is the city marshal.” 

Saunders turned pale, but he was no stranger to tight 
situations, and his nerve did not forsake him. 

“And what have I to do with the city marshal, may I 
ask ?” he queried. 

“I don’t know what you have to do with the city mar- 
shal, but I’m tolerably well informed as to what the city 
marshal and his assistants have to do with you.” 

“And who do you happen to be ?” 

“I happen to be Colonel Granby, mayor of this town, 


First on the Grounds. 


297 


and you happen to be the thief who ran off a horse be- 
longing to me. The horse ran back to my stable a good 
deal the worse for your treatment, sir, and, by gad, if 
there’s any law in this town, and I think there is, I’ll make 
you suffer for what you’ve done.” 

Had Joseph Q. Saunders known he was taking liberties 
with the mayor’s live stock, it is possible he might have 
sought other means for reaching the show grounds. 

“Quilp !” called Colonel Granby, half turning in his 
saddle. 

“Yissuh,” answered the colored boy, riding forward. 

“You’re positive that’s the man who ran off with 
Caesar, are you ? Take a good look at him.” 

The boy peered steadily into Saunders’ face for an in- 
stant. 

“Reckon ah couldn’t fo’git him nohow, Marse Granby. 
Ah had a knockdown tuh him, dat’s whut ah had, an’ hit 
ain’t possible fo’ me tuh disremember dat, no sah.” 

“All right, Quilp,” said the colonel, “fall back.” The 
darky backed his horse to the rear, and his master went 
on, addressing himself to Saunders, “so you’ve got a show 
on the river, eh ? With a man like you at its head it must 
be a fake, pure and simple. I wouldn’t let you show here 
if you had secured the site first. If you’ve already se- 
cured your license, just consider it revoked.” The col- 
onel pulled himself up stiffly in his saddle. “Blowker,” 
he said, and finished by nodding his head at Saunders. 

The marshal understood and took the beaten showman 
in tow even as his assistants had secured Big Bill and 
Reddy. Just before they were marched off, Saunders cast 


2gS First on tlie Grounds. 

one fiery, malignant glance at Rushington, but it was the 
glance of a baffled man, stinging under defeat, and Phil 
heeded it not a whit. 

When the officers and their prisoners were gone the 
colonel turned genially on the young showman. 

“This is Mr. Rushington, if I mistake not?” he said, 
extending his hand. 

“The same. Colonel Granby,” answered our hero, giv- 
ing the mayor’s hand a cordial clasp. 

“I met your gentlemanly advance agent, Mr. Norman, 
when he was here,” continued the colonel, “and he told 
me something about you. What he said increases the 
pleasure of this meeting. I have also heard a little about 
the trouble you experienced in getting to Charlotte. I am 
sorry you ran afoul of such luck, and you may count on 
me to do whatever I can to make the remainder of your 
brief stay among us as pleasant as possible. As for our 
friend of the rival combination, I assure you that you 
have nothing further to fear from him.” 

With a pleasant smile and wave of the hand, the colonel 
rode off, followed by his diminutive groom. 

“Rushington’s luck!” laughed Walt. “On top again, 
as usual. Hooray!” 

“Don’t crow too soon, old man,” answered Phil, with a 
troubled look down the road in the direction from which 
he was expecting his stake and canvas vans. “The 
wagons haven’t shown up yet, and I’m afraid there’s 
trouble.” 

“What if there is trouble?” scoffed the exultant Walt. 
“The mayor’s on our side, and the whole town is back 


First on tlie Grounds. 


299 


of US. The result of all this trouble will merely be a lot 
of free advertising. I’ll bet the canvas won’t be able to 
hold the crowds!” 

“Well, while you are jubilating, I’ll just get into the 
saddle and gallop back to the pier and find out what’s 
caused the blockade. We’ll have to do some hurricane 
hustling to get the tents up and everything in shape in 
time for che parade.” 

A few moments after the young circus owner was on 
the back of his saddle horse, pushing swiftly toward the 
town. He had not covered more than a hundred yards 
of his journey when he saw Mamie, his reckless rider, 
careering toward him on her pony. 

“Arrah, the luck of it!” she exclaimed, breathlessly, as 
they drew their horses to a halt side by side in the road. 

“What’s wrong, Mamie ?” demanded Phil, positive from 
the troubled look on the girl’s face that there was some- 
thing wrong at the river. 

“Sure, Rushy, an’ they’re at it hammer-and-tongs, our 
b’ys an’ the spalpeens that train wid Joey Saunders — ^bad 
cess to him. Ye’re needed, darlint, an’ needed bad.” 

Our hero waited for no more, but clapped spurs to his 
horse and dashed for the pier. Mamie, whirling her 
pony, followed close on his heels, keeping up with his wild 
pace, stride for stride. 


CHAPTER XL. 


TROUBLE AT THE LANDING. 

On leaving the stranded River Queen to make his race 
for the show grounds, Saunders had left a man named 
Bud Christopher in charge of his interests. 

Christopher was a man of shady reputation and ill- 
omened visage. He hailed from some part of the great 
West, was a silent partner of Saunders, and was known 
to be fully as brutal and desperate. 

Before going over the side of the Queen, Saunders had 
instructed Christopher to block the landing of Rushing- 
ton’s show if he could, and to harass him in every way 
possible. Lawless work could not have been intrusted in 
better hands, and the skipper of the River Queen, having 
a pique at Captain Hackett, and being thoroughly in- 
censed at the manner in which the Queen had been 
grounded, was ready to play his part in any scheme which 
would not really endanger his own vessel. 

The sight of Rushington’s people systematically pre- 
paring to land from their safely-moored steamer while 
the Queen was listing heavily to port on a sandbar, stirred 
all on the latter ship to the deepest depths of their ruf- 
fianly natures. 

The three boatmen who had rowed Saunders, Big Bill 
and Reddy ashore had been promised five dollars each by 
Christopher if they could succeed, before returning, in 
cutting the rear cable of Hackett’s boat. While they were 


Trouble at tbe Landing-. 301 

skulking at this piece of underhand work, all hands on 
the Queen were toiling to get clear of the bar. 

Every pound of steam that the boilers would stand 
was worked up, and a hawser was made fast to the stern, 
carried ashore and thrown about a tree. Then began the 
work known as “warping,” every pair of hands that could 
be spared laying hold of the hawser that encircled the tree. 
The men at the rope strained bow-wards while the pad- 
dle blades backed water furiously. But in vain. The 
Queen seemed to be stuck hard and fast and would not 
move an inch. Those on the other boat took due notice 
of the Queen's failure to get off, and catcalls, groans and 
derisive yells came from Rushington’s men, and from 
Eona, Mamie and Isabel went up a chorus of mocking 
cries and laughter. 

Dora took no part in the demonstration, for her heart 
and mind were away on the road with Phil. She had 
seen Saunders put off from the other boat, and she knew 
he had left it with the firm intention of baffling Rush at 
the very moment when success was almost within his 
grasp. She had no fears for Phil so far as failure was 
concerned, but what if Saunders’ evil nature should impel 
him to commit some desperate deed against her hero, for 
surely she could name Phil thus in her own heart. The 
thought was well-nigh unbearable to Dora, and she 
anxiously awaited the time when she and the other girls 
could disembark with their horses and hasten to the show 
grounds. 

Stung by the mockery of Rushington’s people, those on 
the Queew redoubled their exertions to get out of their 


302 


Trouble at tbe Landing. 


dilemma. To this end the only “bull’’ in Saunders’ 
menagerie was made fast to the rope and set to pulling 
along the sloping deck. The bull, the boatmen and the 
straining boilers proved too much for the sandbar and 
the steamer backed off with a jump that threw the ele- 
phant to its knees and upset every man at the hawser. 
The boat ^as clear, however, and all on board were jubi- 
lant. 

Christopher’s good nature was still further increased 
by the return of the three men who had rowed Saunders, 
Big Bill and Reddy ashore. They brought the informa- 
tion that they had succeeded in cutting the stern cable of 
the rival boat unknown to any one aboard her. 

“They’ve got their tool and canvas wagons off,” re- 
marked Christopher to the Queen's captain, “and are put- 
ting on the horses. If possible, let’s create a diversion and 
delay those wagons.” 

“We can do it,” averred the other, with a snap of his 
lantern-like jaws. “Will you and your men stand by to 
board if I lay alongside?” 

And Christopher peered into the skipper’s glittering 
eyes, being somewhat in doubt as to whether the boatman 
meant what he said. One look and all doubt was dissi- 
pated. 

“You get us alongside,” whispered Christopher, 
hoarsely, “and I’ll take care of the rest.” 

Thereupon the captain went up into the pilot house and 
himself took the wheel, while Saunders’ “silent partner” 
passed a quick word among the rough horde that com- 
prised both crew and show employees. 


Trouble at tbe Landing. 303 

The first thing Rushington’s ringmaster and man in 
charge knew, the River Queen was shoving herself along- 
side Hackett’s boat, a row of men armed with tent pins 
hanging over the lee rail. 

“This way, every mother’s son of you!” yelled Grout, 
waving his hand toward the canvasmen and laborers who 
were making ready to start with the wagons. “This way, 
I say, and let each man bring a club 1 Look alive, now I 
Boarders, repel boarders 1” 

In an instant, all the neat and orderly system that char- 
acterized the work of Rushington’s men was thrown to the 
winds. Tumult reigned and men armed with every con- 
ceivable weapon flocked to the port side of Hackett’s 
boat. 

All the girls, with the exception of Mamie, retreated 
up the steps to the vicinity of the pilot house. The reck- 
less Irish rider, however, divined at once the necessity of 
Rushington’s presence, and she sprang to her pony, leaped 
to the saddle, and forced the horse over the uplifted 
starboard side of the vessel. The gangplank had been 
displaced by the listing of the craft, owing to the weight 
on the other side. Mamie’s pony did not balk at this jump, 
for he had made higher leaps in the hurdle races, and he 
and his fearless rider were soon bounding along the pier 
and off up the road. By this time the excitement at the 
river was attracting many townspeople toward the wharf. 
From one of these hurrying and curious ones Mamie 
learned the route to the grounds, and her pony fairly flew 
as he carried her on to give the alarm to Phil. 

Meanwhile the battle on the river was raging fast and 


304 Trouble at the Landing. 

furious — the shouts of the fighters ringing out above the 
clashing of tent pins and the thwack of club striking club 
or some undefended head. Burt Wister, the tramp per- 
former, the clown Barrows, Dora’s brother Elmer, and 
many more, distinguished themselves in the skirmish, yet 
the Queen's complement of men appeared to be larger 
than that of Hackett’s boat, and for a time it looked ill for 
Rushington’s outfit. But, at the crisis of the set-to, 
Hackett and his engineer sprang a little surprise on their 
opponents in the shape of a long hose and a jet of hot 
water, direct from the boiler. Before this hissing stream 
the enemy dropped weapons and scudded for cover like 
so many rats for their holes. Swearing horribly, the skip- 
per of the River Queen rang for “full speed ahead,” and 
drew away from the scalding water with a cargo of 
badly-demoralized roughs. 

Then how the cheers went up from Rushington’s men ! 
But Grout allowed them little time for exultation, well 
knowing that the first shift had been due at the grounds 
long before, and that Phil would be waiting and anxious, 
if not already on his way back to discover the cause of 
the delay. So he hurried the men back to the wagons, 
the gangplanks were replaced, and Eona, Isabel and Dora 
prepared to mount their horses and leave the boat. 

Although beaten at every turn. Bud Christopher and the 
skipper of the Queen were far from cowed. Incensed to a 
pitch of criminal recklessness, the captain threw the 
wheel hard over, turned in a circle and came for the stern 
of Hackett’s boat, head-on. The rear hawser, it will be 
remembered, had been cut, and it was the irate skipper’s 


Trouble at tbe Landing. 305 

intention to bunt into the other steamer’s rear, knock her 
out from the wharf, and, if possible, grind in between. 

‘‘Back your engines!” yelled Hackett. “Dash it all! 
do you intend to run us down ?” 

“Start your engines and get out of the way, if you 
don’t want to be wrecked !” bellowed the hoarse voice of 
the other captain. “We’re coming up to that wharf if we 
have to slice you from stern to bow !” 

Hackett sprang into his pilot house and quickly re- 
appeared with a long-barreled squirrel gun. Throwing 
this to his shoulder, he drew a bead on the face of his 
enemy, leering at him through the open window of the 
other pilot house. 

“Back her!” yelled Hackett; “back that boat of yours 
or I’ll shoot ! Quick, or ” 

The other skipper dropped out of sight, the wheel flew 
around, and the River Queen yawed frightfully, struck 
the steamer in front and forced her side away from the 
wharf. The Queen, however, did not wedge her way in 
between Hackett’s boat and the wharf. The releasing of 
the wheel caused the Queen to slew around, and she 
glanced from the stern of the other craft and pointed for 
the middle of the river. 

But more than enough evil had been wrought by these 
diabolical tactics. The fair equestriennes, Eona and Isa- 
bel, had just ridden over the gangplank. They got safely 
across before the Queen struck ; but Dora, who was close 
behind and hurrying in response to a warning shouted by 
her brother and Grout, did not fare so well. 


3o 6 Trouble at the Landing. 

The side of the vessel was driven from the wharf, the 
gangplank slipped off, and Dora and her horse fell with it. 

Shouts of horror and wild alarm went up from the 
onlookers, and, for one awful moment no one seemed able 
to raise a hand to rescue the girl. But the spell was 
broken by a rattling patter of hoofs as Rushington dashed 
up to the brink and drew his sweating horse to a swift 
stop. 

There was no need of words to detail the situation. All 
too plain it lay before his eyes. In a second he was on 
the boards of the pier; another second and his hat and 
coat had been thrown off. 

‘‘Courage, Dora !” he cried, looking down into the fair, 
white face below him. “Til save you.” 

Then he leaped outward and downward, plunging into 
the waters head-first between the girl and the struggling 
horse. 


CHAPTER XLI. 


CONCLUSION. 

Phil's plunge to Dora’s rescue reminded him, as he 
afterward said, of another time on the lake near Spring- 
vale Academy, when a boat in which she and two other 
girls were rowing was run down and wrecked by a sailing 
craft. The circumstances were widely different, but the 
peril in the present instance was none the less. 

Our hero, however, acquitted himself as well this time 
as he did then, although his task was greater, for he had 
now to keep clear of the horse, which, through some in- 
stinct of self-preservation, persisted in swimming toward 
him and Dora, so that it was difficult to keep out of the 
animal’s way. 

Dora was not panic-stricken, as some girls might have 
been under similar circumstances. One of her shining 
qualities, which claimed Phil’s admiration quite as much 
as any other, was her coolness and self-possession in times 
of peril. The “poet of the Norm” was a rare girl in more 
senses of the word than one, but in none more so than in 
this. 

Throwing one arm about her waist, and easily support- 
ing both himself and her in the water with the strong 
movements of his other arm and hand, Phil whispered 
a few encouraging words, and then shouted for a rope. 
Instantly a line whizzed through the air, and he caught 
it and held firmly while two of his burly canvasmen 


3o8 


Conclusion. 


dragged him up to the top of the pier amid the plaudits of 
the townspeople and circus folk alike. 

*'Again, Phil!’’ whispered Dora, as he released her, 
safe and sound on the planks of the pier. “Is there a fate 
in this ?” 

“Call it whatever you like,'' he whispered, smiling a 
little as he recalled the incident of the bog and wondered 
if she gave it rank with this. “I’d like nothing better 
than to go around playing hero to your heroine, but the 
blunt truth remains that there were a dozen men here, 
any one of whom was anxious and eager to do all that I 
did — and more.” 

“Yes,” she whispered back, “but the blunt truth also 
remains that you were the only one out of the entire 
twelve to do it. By the way, look at Isabel ! See what a 
light plays in her eyes. Ah, if glances could kill !” 

Eona, Isabel and Mamie, too, had witnessed the rescue, 
and all three had but one thought, although differently 
impressed with it. They all knew that events of this kind 
could not fail to bring the young showman and pretty 
Dora Warren closer together. 

While this was going on, another hawser had been 
attached to the stern in lieu of the one that had been sev- 
ered, the boat was warped back into place, the gangway 
hauled up and put in proper position, and Dora's horse 
guided down stream by rowboat and led up the shelving 
bank below the wharf. 

“Now, Grout,” said the young circus owner, as he step- 
ped briskly aboard, “what has happened? Tell me in as 
few words as possible.” 


Conclusion. 


309 


By this time the last piece of baggage had been taken 
ashore, the ringmaster had put Rushington in possession 
of all the facts in connection with the River Queen and 
her passengers. 

“Where is the steamer, anyhow?’’ asked Phil, looking 
up and down the river. No sign of the boat, or of Saun- 
ders’ show was anywhere to be seen. 

“Hackett says the Queen crowded on all steam and went 
along with the current,” said Grout. 

“That’s where she went,” put in Hackett. “Does your 
combination play any more towns along the river, Mr. 
Rushington ?” 

“No, thank Heaven ! Why do you ask ?” 

“Because Saunders’ show would probably be ahead of 
you if you were going down any farther. Are either of 
you gentlemen going back to the landing with me ?” 

“Mr. Grout will go,” said Phil, “and superintend the 
loading and unloading of the last load.” 

“Then I must ask you to step ashore. As you know our 
time is limited, and this craft will have to do some pretty 
swift running in order to get back according to schedule.” 

“You’ll make it all O. K.,” answered Phil, stepping to 
the gangplank and joining Dora, who was waiting for 
him. “Remember, you will have no River Queen to pur- 
sue you with a rival circus.” 

Together he and Dora stepped to the pier, the plank 
was drawn in, the hawsers taken off the piles and Hackett 
started up stream for the remainder of the Mossman & 
Rushington show. 

So quickly had the laborers and canvasmen worked, 


310 


Conclusion. 


under the skilled superintendence of Walt Arkwright, 
that the gleam of the tents, with their waving banners, 
struck on the sight of Phil and Dora as they came within 
view of the grounds. 

“Now, that’s something like!” exclaimed the young 
circus owner, with considerable satisfaction. “If the 
people of Charlotte ever learn the amount of trouble it has 
caused us to give them two performances to-day, I think 
they will appreciate our efforts.” 

“Have you any idea what will be done with Joseph Q. 
Saunders and his two men, Phil?” questioned Dora. 

“That depends, I suppose, on how badly the mayor’s 
horse was hurt. Personally, I do not know as I can make 
out a very clear case against any of them. It’s all in a 
business way, you understand,” he added, with a laugh, 
“and competition is always the life of trade.” 

“What about Neil Dustin, Phil?” 

“That’s a different proposition. He tried to burn Hack- 
ett’s boat, and the skipper turned him over to the author- 
ities. Just what will be done with him it is hard to say.” 

“He’ll get his deserts,” said Walt. “Don’t worry about 
that.” 

The day’s business at Charlotte proved very good, and 
so did the business of several days after that. 

Now skies were bright, money was rolling in fast, 
and with so many friends around him, Phil Rushington, 
the young circus owner, felt very well content. 



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